i once knew a boy
who liked to draw beautiful pictures,
wich nobody saw,
he drew by himself,
alone at night,
locked in his bedroom,
out of side,
the pictures were strange,
they came with a twist,
his pen was a razor,
his canvas, a wrist,
we lay out at night,
watching the stars,
when he lifted his sleeves,
and showed me his scars,
i wasn't shocked,
i knew what to do,
so i rolled up my sleeves
and said 'i draw too'
