Winds of the Old Days

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 water

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