The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan

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 were, 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
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 The evening sun touched gently on
 The eyes of Lucy Jordan
 On the roof top where she climbed
 When all the laughter grew too loud
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 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