she paints a pretty picture,
but the picture has a twist,
her paintbrush is a 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 ends up finally dead,
her pretty picture is fading,
quite slowly on her arm,
the blood is not racing through her,
she can no longer do harm,
she painted a pretty picture,
but her picture had a twist,
you see her mind was her razor,
and her heart was her wrist
