| 1967 | 1 | |
| 668886 -> -> x | 0888x -> -> |
| |: Eb E F Eb E F :| |
| C | Bb | F | |
| After all the | jacks are in their | boxes |
| C | Bb | F | |
| And the clowns have | all gone to | bed |
| C | Bb | F | |
| You can hear happiness | staggering on | down the street |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | |
| Footsteps | dressed in | red |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | |
| And the | wind whispers | Mar | y |
| C | Bb | F | |
| A broom is | drearily | sweeping |
| C | Bb | F | |
| Up the broken peices of | yesterday's | life |
| C | Bb | F | |
| Somewhere a | queen is | weeping |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | |
| Somewhere a | king has no | wif | e |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | |
| And the wind | cries | Mar | y |
| LEAD |: F Eb Bb Ab :| 3x G Bb Db F |
| C | Bb | F | |
| The traffic lights turn | blue to | morrow |
| C | Bb | F | |
| And shine the emptyness | down on my | bed |
| C | Bb | F | |
| The tiny island | sags | downstream |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | |
| Cause the life that | lived is | dea | d |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | |
| And the wind | screams | Mar | y |
| C | Bb | F | |
| Will the wind | ever re | member |
| C | Bb | F | |
| The names it has | blown in the | past |
| C | Bb | F | |
| With its crutch, its old | age, and its | wisdom |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | |
| It whispers no, this will | be the | las | t |
| G | Bb | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | Eb | E | F | |
| And the wind | cries | Mar | y |
| \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ |
| \_\_\_ \_ \_ Glen Macon |
| \_ \_\_ \_\_ any-net: macon@cbmvax.commodore.com |
| \_ \_ \_\_ \_ Standard disclaimer... |
| \_ \_\_\_ \_ \_ \_ Commodore doesn't endorse what I say, I do |
| \_ \_ \_ \_ Who wants to know... |
| \_ \_ \_ \_ |
| \_\_\_ \_ \_ |
| \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ \_ |
| All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain. |