The Ballad of Lucy Jordan

The morning sun touched lightly 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 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 are 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 street
Screaming all the way

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
So she let the phone keep ringing
And 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 roof top
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
As he led her down
To the long white car
That waited past the crowd

At the age of thirty-seven
She knew she’d found forever
As she rode along
Through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair

– Written by Shel Silverstein, a hit for Marianne Faithfull on “Broken English” (1979)

Note
I thought of this song while listening to Ismaël Lô (marvelous African music), who does a duet with Marianne Faithfull on “Jammu Africa” (1996). I still remember when “Broken English” came out and jump-started a Marianne Faithfull comeback – with the new smoky voice that is so far from the nightingale-like folk organ of her first career. “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan” is by far the best song on the album. Thank you, Shel Silverstein.