The tears in her eyes burned like fire
Every time she cries she gets a strange desire
She paints a pretty picture, but her art has a twist
Her paintbrush is a knife and her canvas is her wrist
She tells herself stop it, she tell herself drop it
But it never is that easy
She'll keep going until she feels wheezy
At night she cries alone in the dark
She's thinking about those painful marks
It shows on her wrists and in her head
She wishes she were dead
Nobody loves her
Her life is just a big blur
She thinks about suicide all of the time
But in heaven it is considered to be a crime
But she does not care anymore
They all call her a "dirty whore"
She remembers that her father has a gun
And then again the thoughts begun
She puts her pink polished nails in the trigger
Staring in the mirror at her figure
Suddenly she is gone
And she will meet God at dawn
Pull.bang.dead.
