In the half-tone light of a young morning 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