Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the porch
Watching the roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of long ago,
When she color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just his smile,
Her and her canvas follow him wherever he would go

'Cause they were painters and they were themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked daisies covered the room walls
He put water roses in her hair
He said, "Love, I you,
I want to you the mountains, the sunshine,
The too
I want to you a world as beautiful as you are to me"

'Cause I'm a painter and I want to you
A way

So they sat down and made a of their love,
They made it an art to by
painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child
In the winter they weavers of warmth,
In the they were carpenters of love
They blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

Until one day the fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew was wrong
She running through the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't him from me!"
But by the she got there, she feared he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water colored roses in his for her
She threw down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to
I put my in this life we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world me still
My body may die now, but these are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So seasons came and many seasons went
And many times she saw her love's watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A lovely

years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds by
They her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago,
When she used color carelessly, painted his
A times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him wherever he go
Yes, she and her canvas still

'Cause they are painters and they are painting
A
'Cause they are and they are painting themselves
A world