The Ballad of Lucy Jordan

Marianne Faithfull



The morning sun touched lightly on

the eyes of Lucy Jordan

In a white suburban bedroom

in a white suburban town



And she lay there neath the covers

dreaming of a thousand lovers

til the world turned to orange

and the room went spinning round



At the age of 37

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



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 her days



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 37

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 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 37

she knew she'd found forever

as she rode along through Paris

with the warm wind in her hair