Oui Monsieur - Melody Clari

Lyrics:
In West Elizabeth, where the cottonwoods sigh,
And the dust prays soft under a hard blue sky,
Rode a whisper in boots through the outlaw heat—
Melody Clari, light as a heartbeat.

Small frame, slim shade, blonde hair like wheat,
Eyes that could cool down a gambler’s greed,
She didn’t need a gun to make men stand still—
Just a quiet look, and a stubborn will.

[Pre-Chorus]
She’d tilt her chin when the night got heavy,
Like she knew the storm and still stayed steady,
And when trouble asked, “Girl, you scared of me?”
She’d smile and breathe:

[Chorus]
“Oui, monsieur…” she’d say with a charm so clean,
Like a hymn in French cut through kerosene.
“Oui, monsieur…” and the saloon would hush,
Even wolves in hats would forget their rush.
She was grace in the grit, a lantern in the gloam,
A soft little flame in a ruthless home—
And the West learned slow what the kind ones do:
They don’t break easy… they break you through.

[Verse 2]
Came in on a train with a worn-out case,
No big-town gold, just a fearless face,
Found work where the piano bled low and tired,
And the men talked brave, and the liars got hired.

Sheriff with a stare like a rusted nail,
Banker with a grin like a coyote tale,
They all leaned close, tryin’ to buy her name—
But Melody only nodded the same.

[Pre-Chorus]
She’d pour their drinks like a calm confession,
Never belonged to their cheap possession,
And when they pressed, she’d turn slightly blue—
Not cold, just true:

[Chorus]
“Oui, monsieur…” she’d say with a charm so clean,
Like a hymn in French cut through kerosene.
“Oui, monsieur…” and the saloon would hush,
Even wolves in hats would forget their rush.
She was grace in the grit, a lantern in the gloam,
A soft little flame in a ruthless home—
And the West learned slow what the kind ones do:
They don’t break easy… they break you through.

[Bridge]
But when the lamps went out and the laughter thinned,
There was another town where her sorrow lived—
Rhodes at sundown, red clay underfoot,
A quiet little grave where her heart stayed put.

Tempelton… a name she carried like blame,
Like a match in rain that still held flame.
She’d bring wildflowers, lay them slow and neat,
Knees in the dust, lips barely speak.

“Oui, monsieur…” to the stone, to the cold,
To the story the dirt refused to fold—
Her voice would tremble, then settle down,
Like a train far off, like a prayer in town.

[Verse 3]
Some said “Move on,” like it’s whiskey you drain,
Like love’s just a bruise you can out-ride with pain,
But she’d walk that path when the night felt long,
With no witness there but the crickets’ song.

And the wind through Rhodes would turn gentle, low,
As if even the South knew what it owed,
For the kind of man that don’t make a show—
And the kind of grief that refuses to go.

[Final Chorus]
“Oui, monsieur…” she’d say with a charm so clean,
Like a hymn in French cut through kerosene.
“Oui, monsieur…” and the night would bend,
To the smallest voice with the strongest end.
She was grace in the grit, a lantern in the gloam,
A soft little flame in a ruthless home—
And I still hear that phrase when the wind blows through:
“Oui, monsieur…”
…and the world turns true.

[Outro]
In nineteen-oh-five, where the legends are drawn,
Some are made by bullets—some by dawn.
And some by a blonde in a dust-worn hue,
Walking to Rhodes with a heart split in two.