(J. Hendrix) 1967
668886 -> -> x0888x -> ->
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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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Footsteps dressed 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 peices 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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C Bb F
The traffic lights turn blue tomorrow
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And shine the emptyness down on my bed
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The tiny island sags downstream
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Cause the life that 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 its crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
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It whispers no, this will be the last
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And the wind cries Mary
Por: Jean Guilherme Amaral Maia
Email: [email protected]
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Contribuição: Jean Guilherme Amaral Maia([email protected]) Enviado por: anônimo
Corrigido por: sem correções
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