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There was a beautiful artist. But her story has a twist . Her brush is a razor , and her canvas is her wrist. She will come home each day and cry, just to see it in the corner of her eye. Her brush lay awake and ready , her canvas held nice and steady. She paints the picture once more , her canvas lay broken and torn. He told me forever I would have guessed forever means never , quiet , and severed.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rRM58iSllig&feature=related