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• Artiste: Wendy McNeill
• Titre: The Sparrow
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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 fourty-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?