After all the Jacks are in there boxes And the CLOWNS HAVE ALL gone to bed You can hear happiness STAGGERING on down the street Footprints dressed in red And the wind whispers Mary A broom is drearly sweeping Of the broken pieces of yesterdays life Somewhere a queen is weeping Somewhere a king has no wife And the wind it cries Mary THE TRAFFIC lights they a turn blue tomorrow And shine the emptiness down on my bed The tiny island sags down the street Cause the life that lives is dead And the wind screams Mary. Will the wind every remember The names it has blown in the past And with this crush its old age and its wisdom It whisper no this will be the last And the wind cries Mary.
Posted on: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 05:14:41 +0000
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