Grey Matter x Cruella's Closet-Mixdown (Mashup)

[singer A] I drag a fingernail across the walnut runway table Trying to scratch out the name on the brushed-gold designer label. The office screen is humming with a dead-eyed glow, A smear of Chanel on the handset, whispered low. I can’t remember if I kept my cool all day, Or if I’m just a hanger in the wrong-sized display. [singer A] [Harmony: High 3rd sharp harmony, cold and detached] Lipstick stains on my brain. [Harmony: Low 5th drone] Here I am, insane again... [Harmony: Thick triple-tracked octave split] Grey Matters! The hemlines are folding in the wash, A beautiful, expensive, bitter clash. [transition] [singer A] Passion is a spark, obsession's a fire left alone. I learned the difference, chose the burn, right to the bone. I'm not just a hot blonde poison, I'm a beautiful disease, I'll spend my last dime on Milan leather, brought to my knees. Everybody calls me Cruella, maybe that's because I fell in love with fashion and ignored all the laws. [singer A] Cruella! Cruella! Queen of the catwalk jungle tonight Cruella! Cruella! Everything's wrong but I wear it right [transition] [singer A] The clock on the fitting wall is cutting into time, A polished little hostage in a polished little crime. My knuckles are white from gripping the edge of the rack, Staring at the seamstress pins, trying not to crack. The champagne in the flute has gone flat and thin, A slow-motion panic in a mirrored skin. [singer A] [Harmony: Desperate, overlapping counter-melody] I hear the heels on the floor down by the elevator, An endless loop of smiles negotiating the tailor. Is anybody home behind those lacquered window panes? Or are we all just fabric pinned to somebody’s name? I’m freezing in the heat of a sample-room July, With a mannequin stare and a perfectly dry eye. [singer A] [Harmony: High 3rd sharp harmony, cold and detached] Lipstick stains on my brain. [Harmony: Low 5th drone] Here I am, insane again... [Harmony: Thick triple-tracked octave split] Grey Matters! The hemlines are folding in the wash, A beautiful, expensive, bitter clash.