The lady's adrift in a foreign land
Sing ing on issues both humble and grand
A de cade flew past her and there on the page
She read that the princ e had returned to the stage
Hove ring near treacher ous waters
A fr iend saw her drifti ng and caught her
Ungu arded fantasies fl ying too far
Memo ries tumbling like sweets from a jar
And t ake me down to the harbor now
Grape s of the summer are low on the bough
Ghost s of my history wil l follow me there
And t he winds of the old days will blow through my hair
Brea th on an undying e mber
It d oesn't take much to remember
Thos e eloquent songs f rom 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 bee n denying
The truths that are wr apped in a mystery
The sixties are over so set him free
And t ake me down to the harbor now
Grape s of the summer are low on the bough
Ghost s of my history wil l follow me there
And t he winds of the old days will blow through my hair
Why do I sit the autum nal judge?
Year s of self-righteous ness will not budge
Sing er or savior it w as his to choose
Whic h of us knows what was his to lose?
Because idols are best when they're made of stone
A savio r's a nuisance to li ve with at home
Stars o ften fall heroes go unsung
And mar tyrs most certainly die too young
So t hank you for writi ng the best songs
Than k you for righting a few wrongs
You' re a savage gift o n a wayward bus
But you stepped down an d you sang to us
And g et you down to the harbor now
Most of the sour grapes are gone from the bough
Ghost s of Johanna will v isit you there
And t he winds of the old days will blow through your hair
