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