Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked daisies covered the living room
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 give you a world as 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
They painted every passion, every home, created every child
In the winter they were of warmth,
In the summer were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints too sad so they made them yellow

And were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain fell as thick as oil
And in her heart she knew something was
She running through the orchard screaming,
"No God, take him from 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 threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, cold portraits
To me!"

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

So many came and many seasons went
And many she saw her love's face watering the flowers,
Talking to the and singing 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 painters and they had themselves
A world

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

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