She paints a pretty picture,
But the story has a twist,
Her paint brush is her razor.
And her canvas is her wrist.
She paints a pretty picture,
In color that's blood red.
While using her sharp paint brush,
She ends up finally dead.
Her pretty pictures fading,
Quite slowly on her,
The blood is not racing threw her.
She can no longer do harm.
She painted a pretty picture,
But her picture has a twist.
Her mind was a razor,
And her heart was her wrist < 3
