The mornin' sun touched lightly on
the eyes of Lucy Jordan
In her white suburban bedroom,
in her white suburban town
As she lay there 'neath the covers,
dreaming of a thousand lovers
'Til the world turned to orange
and the room went spinnin' round

At the age of 37,
she realised she'd never ride
through Paris in a sports car,
with the warm wind in her hair
And she let the phone keep ringin'
as she sat there softly singin'
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised
in her daddy's easy chair

Her husband, he was off to work,
and the kids were off to school
And there were oh so many ways
for her to spend her day
She could clean the house for hours,
or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked down the shady street
screaming all the way

At the age of 37,
she realised she'd never ride
through Paris in a sports car,
with the warm wind in her hair
And she let the phone keep ringin'
as she sat there softly singin'
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'd climbed
when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtseyed to the man,
who reached and offered her his hand
And led her down to the long white car
that waited past the crowd

At the age of 37,
she knew she'd found forever
as they rode along through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair
with the wind in her hair .

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