She paints her toenails on a Sunday night
The bright pink brush moves from side to side
And she paints, she paints

It's become a weekly ritual
The same color every week, nothing special
And she paints, she paints

Swish, swish, and a scratching noise
The sounds of the brush don't cover up the sounds in her mind
And she paints, she paints

The sounds of rejection, of humiliation and desperation
She tries to cover up with the bright dye
And she paints, she paints

It's a call for attention, a yell of frustration
But to everyone else, it just seems normal
And she paints, she paints