She signs and shifls on the pillow
And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly
To kiss the Pussy Willow.
In her fairy-tale world she's a lost soul singing
In a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing
For her white Knight to appear.
Pussy Willow - down far-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes
Runs for the train - see, eight o'clock's coming
Cutting dreams down to size again.
She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing
An apartment in old Mayfair
Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring
Or to die for a cause somewhere.
Pussy Willow - down fur-lined avenue
Brushing the sleep for her young woman eyes
Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming
Cutting dreams down to size again
