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