• I visit these stones,
    Each day and night,
    Painting as,
    The doves take flight.

    My mother here,
    My father there,
    Mournful winds,
    Ruffle my hair.

    Oh, but why,
    And what do I owe?
    You've already gone to hell,
    With my sanity in tow.

    It's just a hide and seek,
    A twisted little game,
    These mournful spirits,
    Are too far from tame.

    So I take sanctuary in paint,
    A colourful world of wonder,
    My little safe haven,
    Before I go under.

    So ask politely,
    And I'll give you a twirl,
    Because I'm nothing but,
    The Little Painter Girl.