She was an artist with a thirst for magenta,
bound by the brush and many hues
painting the same thing over again.
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
And her hands takes then like a tool.
Built in power to personify life and death
calling to every soul that stirs.
Wrangle every breath gone cool,
to touch her eyes a brush so slim.
There is no other way to find perfection
without this gift of your soul's intention