top of page

JIMI HENDRIX (1967) - The Wind Cries Mary

well 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 

footprints dressed in red

And the wind whispers Mary


A broom is drearily sweeping up 

all the broken pieces of yesterdays 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

And shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sags down stream

Cause the lifethatlived is dead

And the wind screams Mary


will the wind ever remember 

the names it has blowm in the past?

And with this crutch, its old age And its wisdom 

it whispers, "No, this will be the last"

And the wind cries Mary

bottom of page