She paint a pretty picture
But it has a twist
Her paint brush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist
She paints her pretty picture
in a colour that is blood red
While using her Sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty picture fades
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood not racing through her
She can do no more harm
She painted her pretty picture
But her picture has a twist
You see her mind was her razor
And her heart was her wrist
