Montreal - Kari Bremnes

I saw that she was rather young

She was standing at the counter of a dusty old arcade

She must have weighed at least 200 pounds

But everything she sold was slim and finely made

I’d seen nothing so enchanting for so long

This was Montreal, I was hiding from the rain

She wore black fingernails and went right into a song

As she slowly came to me with this refrain:

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes:

Her lingerie, her skirts and coats

Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes

And, yes, I find it morbid

She chain-smoked as she handled dark velour

These hand-made things she showed me in her dramatic fashion

She saw for me these clothes held an allure

The moiré and silk seemed to stir my passion

It was Dior, it was Chanel, a certain cut, a seamless seam

The black-nailed girl could clearly see my weakness

A weakness fed by a strange and sensuous dream

With a joyless laugh she said those lines again:

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes:

Her lingerie, her skirts and coats

Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes

And, yes, I find it morbid

She showed me last a handbag made of velvet

In it were expensive stones like amethyst and jade

Black sapphires had been shaped just like a rose

For the funeral of a lover her mother had them made

It probably was Paris where he died, is what she said

As this big forgotten daughter glanced towards the window

I’ll sell the sapphires cheap, the man’s long dead!

With a vacant laugh she gave those lines again:

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes:

Her lingerie, her skirts and coats

Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid

I’m selling all my mother’s clothes

And, yes, I find it morbid