She paints a pretty picture,
but this story has a twist.
Her paintbrush is her razor,
& her canvas is her wrist.
She paints her pretty picture,
in a color that's blood red.
While using her sharp paintbrush, she finally ends up dead.
Her pretty picture's fading,
quite slowly on her arm.
The blood is racing through her,
she can no longer do any harm. She painted her pretty picture,
but her picture has a twist.
You see,
her mind was the razor,
& her heart was her wrist.