The ladys 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 doesnt take much to remember Those eloquent songs from the good old days That set us to marching with banners ablaze But reporters, theres no sense in prying Our blueeyed sons 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 selfrighteousness 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 theyre made of stone A saviors 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 Youre 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
grape, bough, harbor, ghost, old