My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist
In pre-war Paris
Smuggling bombs for the underground.

And she met my father
At a fete in Aix-en-Provence.
He was disguised as a Russian cadet

in the employ of the Axis.
And there in the half-light
Of the provincial midnight

To a lone concertina
They drank in cantinas
And toasted to Edith Piaf

And the fall of the Reich.

My sister was born in a hovel in Burgundy

And left for the cattle
But later was found by a communist
Who'd deserted his ranks

To follow his dream
To start up a punk rock band in South Carolina.
I get letters sometimes.

They bought a plantation
She weeds the tobacco
He offends the nation

And they write, "Don't be a stranger, y'hear."
"Sincerely, your sister."


So my parents had me
To the disgust of the prostitutes
On a bed in a brothel.

Surprisingly raised with tender care
'Til the money got tight
And they bet me away

To a blind brigadier in a game
Of high stakes canasta.
But he made me a sailor

On his brigadier ship fleet.
I know every yardarm
From main mast to jib sheet.

But sometimes I long to be landlocked
And to work in a bakery.