The morning sun touched lightly on The eyes os LUCY JORDAN In a white suburban bedroom In a white suburban TOWN And she lay there "nearth the covers" Dreaming of a thousand lovers Till the world turned to ORANGE And the room went spinning Round At thre age of thirty SEVEN She realized shed 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 SOFTLEY singing Little nusery rhymes she memorished In her DADDYS easy chair Her husband is off to work And her KIDS are off to School And there were oh so many ways For HER to spend her DAYS 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 would never ride