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“She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist
Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist.
She paints a pretty picture in a colour that's blood red.
While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead.
The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm.
Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm.
Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist,
you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.”
―
Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist.
She paints a pretty picture in a colour that's blood red.
While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead.
The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm.
Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm.
Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist,
you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.”
―
