Her flowers grew from her seed;
her poems grew from her pain.
She had to bleed to be free;
then she danced in a trance with the rain.
She’s a pain-ter.
She kisses grief on the lips
and moulds it into art.
Her flowers grew from her seed;
her poems grew from her pain.
She had to bleed to be free;
then she danced in a trance with the rain.
She’s a pain-ter.
She kisses grief on the lips
and moulds it into art.
