She was an artist with a thirst for magenta
bound by the brushe and many hues
painting the same thing over again, she rejected
On her feet she paid her dues.
Give to her the brush and paint
or she'll burn alive and suffocate.
Her soul feels the colors fresh and cool
But her heart, at times, takes it like a fool.
Build the power to personify life and death
calling to every soul that stirs.
Wrangle every breath thats cools
To touch her eyes a brush so slim.
There is no other way to find perfection
without the gift of your soul's intention