After all the jacks are in their boxes
And the clowns have all gone home to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on downstream
Footprints dressed in red
And the wind whispers Mary
A broom is drearily sweeping
The broken pieces of yesterday's life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind cries Mary
The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
Shine in emptiness down upon our bed
The tiny island sails on downstream
'Cause the life it lived is dead
And the wind screams Mary

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