User Profile

---

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 realized 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 memorized 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 realized 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 memorized in her daddy’s easy chair

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
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





Pass along this small tribute, copy this code.