The morning sun
touched lightly
on the eyes
of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban
bedroom
in a white suburban
town
As she lay there
'neath the covers,
dreaming of a
thousand lovers
Till the world turned
to orange and the
room went spinning
round
At the age of thirty-seven
She realised she'd never
ride through Paris
in a sports car with the
warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone
keep ringing and she
sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes
she'd memorised in her
daddy's easy chair
Her husband,
he's off to work
and the kids are
off to school
And there are oh
so many ways for
her to spend the day
She could clean the
house for hours or
rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through
the shady street,
screaming all the way
At the age of thirty-seven
She realised she'd never
ride through Paris in
a sports car with the
warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone
keep ringing as she
sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes
she'd memorised in her
daddy's easy chair
The evening sun
touched gently on
the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the rooftop where she
climbed when all the
laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and
curtsied to the man
who reached and
offered her his hand
And he led her down
to the long white car
that waited
past the crowd
At the age of thirty-seven
She knew she'd found
forever as she rode
along through Paris with
the warm wind
in her hair