Painted red,
And tinted pink,
A picture painted,
Without any ink,
Painful tears,
And broken dreams,
She seems strong,
But nothing is as it seems.

Woah, Ooo, Ooo.

So she wakes up and paints,
New lines upon her canvas,
Razor blades are her brushes,
Which she uses to confess,
Blood red lines and crystaline drops,
Of emotions she cannot suppress,
Are all painted upon her porcelain skin,
One thousand words painted upon her canvas.

Keloid scars,
And lines of white,
Form the backdrop,
Of the canvas tonight,
She prays to finish,
One more line,
And she hopes,
It's finished this time.

Woah, Ooo, Ooo.

So she wakes up and paints,
New lines upon her canvas,
Razor blades are her brushes,
Which she uses to confess,
Blood red lines and crystaline drops,
Of emotions she cannot suppress,
Are all painted upon her porcelain skin,
One thousand words painted upon her canvas.

A canvas that they'll never see,
Painted deep within the beauty,
Of her pain and sorrow,
A canvas that will never sell,
Because she will never tell,
If she makes it to tomorrow.

So she wakes up and paints,
New lines upon her canvas,
Razor blades are her brushes,
Which she uses to confess,
Blood red lines and crystaline drops,
Of emotions she cannot suppress,
Are all painted upon her porcelain skin,
One thousand words painted upon her canvas.