If you’ll recall the forests’ dwarfs,
you’ll remember they worked in mines.
They found a creek of uncola,
that seemed to clear ev’ry sane mind;
leaving serenity behind …
as, through the gem jangle, it winds.

Some may prefer Sarsaparilla,
but others may yearn for iced tea.
They bottled the liquid, sold it,
uncola sailed over the sea.
It stayed pristine … remarkably …
it’s cure worth more than money.

That old witch rose up with a hiss—
her daughter could go ‘Hollywood’.
She would reign; be this lands’ fancy
if that girl left the neighborhood.
Again, the witch wore well her hood—
left teen magazines where she could.

The Princess saw stars in her eyes
and to Hollywood she fled, flies …
till she consumes that uncola
and realizes ‘stardom’ is lies.
To the cliff the witch runs, flings, flies
but she’s caught by Enquirer’s spies.

“Mirror, mirror on the hall wall
whose the fairest female of all?”

Too many beautiful women
ask and the mirror teeters, falls:
“Pride, vanity, is human’s call …
let uncola uncolor you all.”