A-

f-

ter

all

the

jacks

are

in

their

box-

es

And

the

clowns

have

all

gone

to

bed

You

can

hear

hap-

pi-

ness

stag-

ge-

ring

on

down

the

street

Foot-

prints

dressed

in

re-

d

And

the

wind

whis-

pers

Ma-

ry

A

broom

is

dre-

a-

ri-

ly

sweep-

in-

g

Up

the

brok-

en

piec-

es

of

yes-

ter-

days

life

Some-

whe-

re

a

que-

en

is

weep-

ing

Some-

whe-

re

a

king

has

no

wife

And

the

wind

it

cries

Ma-

ry

The

traf-

fic

lights,

they

turn

blue

to-

mor-

ro-

w

And

shine

their

em-

pti-

ness

down

on

my

bed

The

ti-

ny

is-

land

sags

down

stre-

am

Cause

the

life

they

liv-

ed

is

is

de-

ad

And

the

wind

screams

Ma-

ry

Will

the

wind

e-

ver

re-

mem-

ber

The

names

it

has

blow

in

the

past

And

with

this

crutch

it's

old

age

and

it's

wis-

dom

It

whis-

pers

no

this

will

be

the

la-

st

And

the

wind

cries

Ma-

ry