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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