| Magic’s taught and history’s told
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| A glory hole
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| Which through gazed her eyes of gold
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| Those veins run cold
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| Mystery’s wife evades her soul
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| Scaring to and fro
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| Tearing through the snow
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| As she makes her darling coat
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| Hoarding all the shawls
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| Now her evil highness rose
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| Kind of like Shakespearean prose
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| Without the rose
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| Avid as she sows
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| Cruella grows
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| Horace and Jasper stole
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| So let the horror flow
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| Black and white in hair
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| Elegantly gaunt in frame
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| A boney flare
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| Which christened Cruel with creepy grace
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| Always smokey air
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| Circling one Lurch-Hepburn face
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| In her head which filled the space
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| Was the one hellacious taste
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| As she aims her fate
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| Nothing flees her sore embrace
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| As the biggest mistake that Cruel ever made
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| Was when she left her cave and started to reign
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| As the love for her fades
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| Our feelings won’t change
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| So my darling Cruella
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| We see through the grey
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| In her cold glare
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| Loveliest and rare
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| Frightened you’ll soon wear
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| And this elegantly haunting is so fair
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| There’s no reason to part from her cold lair
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| She has all of the loveliest and rare
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| Things which frighten at first
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| But she’ll soon wear
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| She’s a regional spark from this nowhere
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| And this elegant loveliness so fair
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| Taking strolls through the dark by the moon’s glare
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| As she listens for barks in the night air
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| Always searching for marks on the white hair
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| Cruel, you’re so fair |