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But hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
And hell could ne’er be hotter than she
From her rage, the strongest fury is born
Gentle and sweet no longer shall she be
Whoe’er broke her heart, it became two
And twisted and shriveled; she doth not care
Her soul is colored red, changing from blue
She only rageth, but doth no despair
Her words art bitter; they’re cold and they bite
They stab like a dagger, sharp as a knife
She’s full of fire, always ready to fight
She’s bitter, cruel, filled to the brim with strife
Tread carefully, for you may wind up dead
If you break her heart, then don’t use your head

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