In the half-tone light of a young morning
she sighs and shifts 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.

Pusy Willow --- down fur-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.