Song | Montreal |
Artist | Kari Bremnes |
Album | Norwegian Mood |
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. |
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 chainsmoked as she handled dark velour. | |
These handmade 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 blacknailed 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. |