The picture

Every night I paint a picture on my wrist  
And there is always a messed up twist  
On my wrist a fountain will appear  
And the more I press down on it the more pain disappears  
Red water pours like rain  
Falling from my veins  
Each time I go in real deep
And fall into a heavy sleep  
One night I'll cry and close my eyes
And then I'll slowly start to die
Then I'll have no more words to say
Finally I'll be free with no more hell to pay