My Mother Was a Chinese Trapeze Artist

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