Luba the Baroness

Luba, it was only the finest wine

Means or no means

Only the finest place to dine

Paris in the sixties

You had three sons

Handsome husband by your side

I flirted with everyone

Your husband, aging but vain

With the ladies was quite renowned

Author of books made famous

On his years in the French Underground

But you, Luba, the Baroness

It was really your blue blood

No one could touch you with kid gloves

And no one ever should

And the hands of little Julian

Will guide you well

Et le pere du petit Sebastian

Vous attend dans le ceil

The youngest son Jerome

Brighter than he could be

Preferred the darkened corners

And was even a little too young for me

Tall and shy and crafty

He was oh so scholarly then

Got married later on

Had a child by the name of Julian

The eldest Jean Francoise

What a mixture of sweetness and snobbery

Milkfed by his mother

On Russian aristocracy

With wits like sabre through silk

He was the wisest one

Married and remarried

Had a child by the name of Sebastian

And the hands of little Julian

Will guide you well

Et le pere du petit Sebastian

Vous attend dans le ceil

Ah my sweet Christophe

You were only seventeen

First family dinners with the gypsies

Finger chimes and tambourines

With candlelit eyes of experience

Oh how you laughed at me

As I became rapidly foolish

Under your gaze and on red burgundy

In sixty-nine your father died

I saw you in the years between

Handsome, impetuous son of the rich

Taking care of your mother, the queen

And you are married now as well

It was inevitable

Three day wedding in the south of France

To an angel named Annabelle

Recently I was in France

I called you on the phone

Caught racing back through memories

Luba was at home

Her voice sounded quite the same

As we touched on the amenities

Suddenly it fell and shattered

Like a thousand broken tiffanies

In November Jean Francoise died

We were all there by his side

Sorry, darling, that I cried

It's hard to keep these things inside

Where are you staying and how's your son?

No, we hardly told anyone

How long are you here, are you with someone?

Hold it, I'll put Christophe on the phone

Ah my sweet Christophe

Same damn voice

Hell of a way to become the eldest son

It's true you had no choice

And you and Annabelle

You must take care of her

Yes, I'll be over later on

And I'll bring my guitar

While going through things afterward

A letter she wrote and never sent

A single phrase stood out to you

These are the words and how it went...

And the hands of little Julian

Will guide you well

Et le pere du petit Sebastian

Nous attend dans le ceil