The Ballad of Lucy Jordan - Marianne Faithful
I was I believe I was six years old in 1979 when this came out. I would not be the age of 37 until 2010, another thirty one years on. Now I'm twelve Years past her 37 when she realised that she would never ride through Paris with the warm wind in her hair. And I realised that I never will either. I've never been abroad. I haven't had a holiday since 1990. I never will. I haven't left the house thanks to Covid and my agency being thoroughly shit now for about Two and three quarter YEARS. And I hate where I'm trapped. This Year I have had Three medical appointments, Two blood tests, two Legal appointments and a Two trips to B&M. That's Two pleasure/social outings. Oh and the second of two Covid vaccines today. What the Fuck?? Trapped ill in a place I hate and no life.
The morning sun touched lightly on,
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom
In a white suburban town
And she lay there 'neath the covers
Dreaming of a thousand lovers
'Til 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
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 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 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
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 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 he led her down to the long white car
that waited past the crowd
At the age of 37
She knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair
The morning sun touched lightly on,
The eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom
In a white suburban town
And she lay there 'neath the covers
Dreaming of a thousand lovers
'Til 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
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 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 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
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 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 he led her down to the long white car
that waited past the crowd
At the age of 37
She knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris
With the warm wind in her hair