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In the half-tone light of a young morning |
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She sighs and shifts on the pillow. |
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And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly |
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To kiss the pussy willow. |
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In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing |
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In a sad voice nobody hears. |
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She waits in her castle of make-believing |
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For her white knight to appear. |
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Pusy willow --- down fur-lined avenue |
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Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. |
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Runs for the train --- see, eight o'clock's coming |
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Cutting dreams down to size again. |
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Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue |
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Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. |
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Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming |
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Cutting dreams down to size again. |
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She longs for the east and a pale dress flowing |
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An apartment in old mayfair. |
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Or to fish the spey, spinning the first run of spring |
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Or to die for a cause somewhere. |
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Pussy willow --- down fur-lined avenue |
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Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. |
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Runs from the train. hear her typewriter humming |
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Cutting dreams down to size again. |
