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stplsd
01-15-18, 07:50 PM
THE WIND CRIES MARY1 (1) [single ‘A’ side not included in original A.Y.E. LP, mixed into rough stereo for Reprise (guitar solo & vocal only). Track mono single has huge bass bias]

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 re-ed
And the wi-ind whispers, “Mary”

A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterdays life
Somewhere a Queen is weeping
Somewhe-ere a King has no wife
And the wind, it cries, “Mary”

[Solo]

The traffic lights they turn a blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island sags down stream*
‘Cause the life they’d li-ived is, is dead
And the wi-ind screams, “Mary!”

Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past?
And with its crutch, it’s old age and it’s wisdom
It whispers, “No, this will be the last”
And the wi-ind cries, “Mary”

1Very reminiscent of “Mary” from Philip Farmer’s sci-fi book ‘Night Of Light’ which also features the Purple
Haze and is obviously a source for some early lyric imagery. You’ll need to read it;-) Kathy’s story about it
being written after they had a fight and she ran off into the street, followed by Jimi, but left him by catching a
taxi (soon to return) fits well as the other more ‘prosaic’ source.
*Stream of traffic? Tripping, the road itself is often seen like a river (of flowing exotic text etc., think Rick
Griffin etc., if you’ve been there;) Dylan: ‘Highway of diamonds with nobody on it’) and a traffic “island”’s
light box ‘sags’ in sympathy with his mood.


THE WIND CRIES MARY

Official lyric as supplied by Yameta (that is as interpreted by Michael Jeffery’s assistant Kathy Eberth) to A. Schroeder Music Publishing Co. Ltd. London & published by them.
© copyright 1967 by Yameta Co. Ltd. c/o Sea-Lark Enterprises Inc. New York.

Af-ter 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 the broken pieces of yesterday’s life.
Some-where a Queen is weeping,
Some-where a King has no wife,
And the wind it cries, Mary

The traffic lights they turn-uh blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed;
The tiny island sags down stream
‘Cos the life that they lived is dead.
And the wiind screams Mary.

Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past,
And with this crutch, it’s old age and it’s wisdom
It whispers, “No this will be the last.”
And the wind cries Mary.