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How the story rolls |
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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 |
