The Ballad of St. Anne's Reel
John Denver Lyrics

He was stranded in some tiny town
The singer was stuck in a small village.

On fair Prince Edward Isle
The village was located on Prince Edward Island.

Awaitin' for a ship to come and find him
He was waiting for a boat to rescue him.

A one-horse place, a friendly face
The village had very few people, but those there were welcoming.

Some coffee and a tiny trace
The artist was happy with basic comforts like coffee.

Of fiddlin' in the distance far behind him
He heard some music in the distance.

A dime across the counter then
He paid very little money for his coffee.

A shy hello, a brand new friend
He met someone new who was a bit shy.

A walk along the street in the wintry weather
The two went for a walk in the cold weather.

A yellow light, an open door
They found a house with an open door and a light on.

And a welcome friend, there's room for more
The people inside were friendly and welcoming.

And then they're standing there inside together
The artist and his new friend went inside the house together.

He said I've heard that tune before somewhere
The singer recognized a melody being played.

But I can't remember when
He couldn't quite remember where he had heard it before.

Was it on some other friendly shore
He wondered if he had heard it somewhere else.

Or did I hear it on the wind
He even considered that he may have only heard it in his imagination.

Was it written on the sky above
He questioned if the melody had somehow been written in the sky.

I think I heard it from someone I loved
He thought he might have heard it from someone he had loved.

But I never heard it sound so sweet since then
Regardless, he had never heard it played so beautifully.

Now his feet begin to tap
The music made the artist want to dance.

A little boy says I'll take your hat
A child even offered to hold his hat.

He's caught up in the magic of her smile
He was captivated by someone's charming smile.

And leap the heart inside him went
He felt his heart skip a beat.

And off across the floor he sent
He started dancing across the room.

His clumsy body graceful as a child
Despite his ungainly movements, he found an awkward grace in his dance.

He said there's magic in the fiddler's arm
The singer was impressed by the fiddler's talent.

There's magic in this town
He sensed something special about the village.

There's magic in the dancers' feet
He felt that everyone dancing in the village was magical.

And the way they put them down
He was particularly captivated by their skilled footwork.

People smilin' everywhere
The singer saw plenty of smiling faces.

Boots and ribbons, locks of hair
He noticed details in the dress and appearance of those around him.

And laughter and old blue suits and easter gowns
He heard laughter and also took note of the variety of clothing people were wearing.

Now the sailors' gone, the room is bare
The party was over, and the artist was alone in the empty room.

The old piano settin' there
The only thing left in the room was an old piano.

Someone's hat's left hanging on the rack
The singer noticed a lone hat still hanging on a coat rack.

And empty chairs, the wooden floor
The chairs were stacked up in the corner, and the wooden dancefloor was deserted.

That feels the touch of shoes no more
The dancefloor was now silent, with no more tapping feet.

Awaitin' for the dancers to come back
The room seemed almost poised, waiting for the party to start again.

And the fiddle's in the closet
The fiddle was now hidden away in the closet.

Of some daughter of the town
The fiddle now belonged to a local girl.

The strings are broke and the bow is gone
The fiddle was now in poor condition.

And the cover's buttoned down
The girl had carefully covered up the fiddle in spite of its poor condition.

But sometimes on December nights
During certain times, the town could still be as magical as before.

When the air is cold and the wind is right
Especially when the weather was cold with the right wind conditions.

There's a melody that passes through this town
Even when the fiddle is silent, the memory of its tune still remains.