Tom:
Introdução: Eb E F
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After all the jacks are in their boxes
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And the clowns have all gone to bed
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You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
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Footprints dress in red
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And the wind whispers Mary
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A broom is drearily sweeping
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Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life
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Somewhere a Queen is weeping
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Somewhere a King has no wife
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And the wind cries Mary
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The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
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Shine their emptiness down on my bed
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The tiny island that sags downstream
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'Cos the life that they lived is dead
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And the wind screams Mary
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Will the wind ever remember?
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The names it has blown in the past
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With this crutch, it's old age it's wisdom
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It whispers, "No, this will be the last."
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And the wind cries Mary!