Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old now, sitting on the front porch
the clouds roll by
They her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago,
she used color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her would follow him wherever he would go

'Cause they painters and they were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies covered the living walls
He put water colored 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 to paint you
A way

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

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

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

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to
I put my soul in this life we've created with these four
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 many seasons came and many went
And times she saw her love's face watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And when the blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to along, and how he seemed to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A world

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

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