Joan Baez: Luba, the baroness

Luba, it was only the finest wineMeans or no meansOnly the finest place to dineParis in the sixtiesYou had three sonsHandsome husband by your sideI flirted with everyoneYour husband, aging but vainWith the ladies was quite renownedAuthor of books made famousOn his years in the French UndergroundBut you, Luba, the BaronessIt was really your blue bloodNo one could touch you with kid glovesAnd no one ever shouldAnd the hands of little JulianWill guide you wellEt le pere du petit SebastianVous attend dans le ceilThe youngest son JeromeBrighter than he could bePreferred the darkened cornersAnd was even a little too young for meTall and shy and craftyHe was oh so scholarly thenGot married later onHad a child by the name of JulianThe eldest Jean FrancoiseWhat a mixture of sweetness and snobberyMilkfed by his motherOn Russian aristocracyWith wits like sabre through silkHe was the wisest oneMarried and remarriedHad a child by the name of SebastianAnd the hands of little JulianWill guide you wellEt le pere du petit SebastianVous attend dans le ceilAh my sweet ChristopheYou were only seventeenFirst family dinners with the gypsiesFinger chimes and tambourinesWith candlelit eyes of experienceOh how you laughed at meAs I became rapidly foolishUnder your gaze and on red burgundyIn sixty-nine your father diedI saw you in the years betweenHandsome, impetuous son of the richTaking care of your mother, the queenAnd you are married now as wellIt was inevitableThree day wedding in the south of FranceTo an angel named AnnabelleRecently I was in FranceI called you on the phoneCaught racing back through memoriesLuba was at homeHer voice sounded quite the sameAs we touched on the amenitiesSuddenly it fell and shatteredLike a thousand broken tiffaniesIn November Jean Francoise diedWe were all there by his sideSorry, darling, that I criedIt's hard to keep these things insideWhere are you staying and how's your son?No, we hardly told anyoneHow long are you here, are you with someone?Hold it, I'll put Christophe on the phoneAh my sweet ChristopheSame damn voiceHell of a way to become the eldest sonIt's true you had no choiceAnd you and AnnabelleYou must take care of herYes, I'll be over later onAnd I'll bring my guitarWhile going through things afterwardA letter she wrote and never sentA single phrase stood out to youThese are the words and how it went...And the hands of little JulianWill guide you wellEt le pere du petit SebastianNous attend dans le ceil