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1 " After all the jacks are in their boxesAnd the clowns have all gone to bedYou can hear happiness staggering on down the streetFootprints dressed in redAnd the wind whispers, "Mary"A broom is drearily sweepingUp the broken pieces of yesterday's lifeSomewhere, a queen is weepingSomewhere, a king has no wifeAnd the wind, it cries, "Mary"The traffic lights, they turn blue tomorrowAnd shine their emptiness down on my bedThe tiny island sags downstream'Cause the life that lived is deadAnd the wind screams, "Mary"Will the wind ever rememberThe names it has blown in the past?And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdomIt whispers, "No, this will be the last"And the wind cries, "Mary "
― Jimi Hendrix , The Wind Cries Mary