Standard (EADGBE)

The morning sun touched gently 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 worm wind in her hair.

So she let the phone keep ringing

as she sat there softly singing

the nursery rhymes she'd memorize

in her daddy's easy chair.

Her husband is off to work

and the kids are off to school

and there were oh so many ways

for her to spend a day.

She could clean the house for hours

or re-arrange the flowers

or make it through the shady stream

screaming all the way.

At the age of thirty-seven

she realized she'd never ride

through Paris in a sports car

with the worm wind in her hair.

So she let the phone keep ringing

as she sat there softly singing

the nursery rhymes she'd memorize

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 cursed to the man (?)

who reached out ... off to her his hands (?)

and led her down to a long white car (?)

that waited, past the crowd.

At the age of thirty-seven

she knew that she'd found heaven

as she rode along through Paris

with the worm wind in her hair.

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