| Out of the fire like Catholic saints
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| Comes Scarlett and her deep complaint
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| Mimicking tenderness she sees
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| In sentimental movies
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| A celluloid rider comes to town
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| Cinematic lovers sway
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| Plantations and sweeping ballroom gowns
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| Take her breath away
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| Out in the wind in crinolines
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| Chasing the ghosts of Gable and Flynn
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| Through stand-in boys and extra players
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| Magnolias hopeful in her auburn hair
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| She comes from a school of southern charm
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| She likes to have things her way
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| Any man in the world holding out his arm
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| Would soon be made to pay
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| Friends have told her not so proud
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| Neighbors trying to sleep and yelling «not so loud»
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| Lovers in anger «block of ice»
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| Harder and harder just to be nice
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| Given in the night to dark dreams
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| From the dark things she feels
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| She covers her eyes in the x-rated scenes
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| Running from the reels
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| Beauty and madness to be praised
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| 'cause it is not easy to be brave
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| To walk around in so much need
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| To carry the weight of all that greed
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| Dressed in stolen clothes she stands
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| Cast iron and frail
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| With her impossibly gentle hands
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| And her blood-red fingernails
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| Out of the fire and still smoldering
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| She says «a woman must have everything»
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| Shades of scarlett conquering
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| She says «a woman must have everything» |