Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
Watching the roll 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 maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would go

'Cause were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked covered the living 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 give you a world as as you are to me"

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

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

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

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

He said, "Love I leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we've created these four hands
Love, I leave, but a little, this world holds me still
My may die now, but these paintings 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 face the flowers,
Talking to the and singing to his children,
And the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to along, and how he seemed to hold her
When she was

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A world

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

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