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