WINDS OF THE OLD DAYS 
(Words and Music by Joan Baez) - 1975


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