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The Wind Cries Mary (Live) - Gary Moore
After all the jacks
Are in their boxes
And the clowns have all
Gone to bed
You can hear happiness
Staggering on down the street
Foot rints dress in red
And the wind whispers mary
A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces
Of yesterday's life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind it cries mary
The traffic lights
They turn blue tomorrow
Shine emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island down tream
'Cos the life that they lived
Is dead
And the wind screams mary
Will the wind ever remember
O the names it has blown in the past
And with this crutch
It's old age and it' wisdom
It whispers no
This will be the last
And the wind cries mary
