She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paint brush is a razorAnd her canvas is her wrist
She paints a pretty picture
In a color that's blood redWhile using her sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty pictures fadingQuite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do harmShe painted her pretty picture
Bit her picture had a twist
You see her mind was her razorAnd her heart was her wrist