She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush is a razor
And her canvad is her wrist
She paints her pretty picture
In a color that's blood red
While using her sharp paintbrush
She end up finally dead
Her pretty picture is fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is no longer racing through her
She can no longer do harm
She painted her pretty picture
But her picture had a twist
You see her mind was her razor
And her heart was her wrist
