The lady's adrift in a foreign land
Singing on issues both humble and grand
A decade flew past her and there on the page

She read that the prince had returned to the stage
Hovering near treacherous waters
A friend saw her drifting and caught her

Unguarded fantasies flying too far
Memories tumbling like sweets from a jar


And take me down to the harbor now
Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there

And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair

Breath on an undying ember

It doesn't take much to remember
Those eloquent songs from the good old days
That set us to marching with banners ablaze

But reporters, there's no sense in prying
Our blue-eyed son's been denying
The truths that are wrapped in a mystery

The sixties are over so set him free

And take me down to the harbor now

Grapes of the summer are low on the bough
Ghosts of my history will follow me there
And the winds of the old days will blow through my hair


Why do I sit the autumnal judge
Years of self-righteousness will not budge

Singer or savior, it was his to choose
Which of us knows what was his to lose
Because idols are best when they're made of stone

A savior's a nuisance to live with at home
Stars often fall, heroes go unsung
And martyrs most certainly die too young


So thank you for writing the best songs
Thank you for righting a few wrongs

You're a savage gift on a wayward bus
But you stepped down and you sang to us


And get you down to the harbor now
Most of the sour grapes are gone from the bough
Ghosts of Johanna will visit you there

And the winds of the old days will blow through your hair