The Ballad of Lucy Jordan by Shel Silverstein

THE BALLAD OF LUCY JORDAN

The morning sun touched lightly on

The eyes of Lucy Jordan

In her 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 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

Little nursery rhymes she'd memorized

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 the day:

She could clean the house for hours

Or rearrange the flowers

Or run naked through the shady streets,

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

Little 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