i paint a pretty picture
but the story has a twist,
my paint brush is a razor,
and my canvas is my wrist,
i paint a pretty picture
in a color thats blood red,while using my sharp paint brush,
i end up finally dead,
my pretty picture's fading,
quite slowly on my arm
the blood is not racing through me
i can no longer do harm
i painted a prerry picture, but the story has a twist
my mind was a razor,
and my heart was my wrist
