The Ballad of Lucy Jordan. Marianne Faithfull. 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