She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush was her razor
And her canvas was her wrist
She paints a pretty picture
In a color that's blood red
And using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty pictures fading
Quite slowly up her arm
Blood no longer flows through her
She can no longer do her harm
Yes, she painted a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
You see, her mind was just her razor
And her heart was just her wrist
- Unknown