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