she paints a pretty picture
but this picture has a twist you see.. her paintbrush is a razor
and her canvas is her wrist she paints her pretty picture in a
color that's blood red while using her sharp paintbrush she
ends up finally dead her pretty pictures fading quite slowly on her
arm the blood is not racing through her she can no longer do harm
she painted her pretty picture but her picture had a twist you see
her mind was the razor and her heart was just her wrist
I wake up thinking about you. I go to sleep
thinking about you. Whatever I’m doing,
you’re on my mind. Why is that? How do you have the power
to jump into my mind? Is it your looks, your charms, your
personality? What is it?