The Sparrow

Cent quinze sur la rue de Belleville dans Paris
Marks the spot where I was not born
But the myth persists because my life was chaotic
A street corner birth from an Italian whore

Anetta Giovani Millard, my mother
Wandered the bars and the fairgrounds
She had a fling with a circus performer
Then left me with pap, who soon handed me down

Sometimes things get heavy
Sometimes it's too much

Now in the care of a kind brothel Madame
Grandma Gassion did the best that she could
This upbringing had not made me sentimental
When a boy signalled a girl
I figured she should

At sixteen years old, I was a mother
By seventeen, I was on with my life
When little Marcel died of meningitis
I started singing because I could not cry

Lewis Leplais was the club owner
He coaxed me on stage with a "la môme piaf"
I was the rage a heartbreaking beauty
But I broke for real, when they found him dead
And they had the nerve to consider me a suspect

Sometimes things get heavy
Sometimes it's too much

Stretch just a bit further
See how far I can go
This will be life to the fullest
Rich, 'cause I am the sparrow

Some people think I was unsympathetic
Because in my notes I rarely spoke of the war
Pardonnez-moi, I was a little bit busy
Seeking out safety and lusting for more
More, more, more

Sometimes it's too much

My list of men looked like a phonebook
What can I say
It was tragic and fun
I had my last at forty-seven
He was twenty years fresher
I like them young

Nineteen sixty three I recorded my last song
Ailing I was brought to the coast
My present love and a couple of others
Reasoned with me as I feared I might roast
Oh mon Dieu

Sometimes things get heavy
Sometimes, it's too much

Stretch, just a bit further
Guess, this is my time to go
Please, won't you pray to Saint Rita
To take care of her sparrow