The morning 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
Till the world turned 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
And 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 was off to work, and the kids were off to school
And there were on so many ways for her to spend the day
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked down the shady street screaming all the way

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 led her down to the long white car
That waited past the crowd