A fine man at nine

He was tall, he was thin, he was dark
His voice was incomparably smooth
He'd completely inhabit the part
How he talked, how he laughed, how he moved

When he was the villain, you cheered
You could tell that he always had fun
When he laughed or he smiled, you feared
All the terrible things he had done

And yet--or to spite it--he was awful nice
There's a hole in our hearts and it's named Vincent Price