Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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 color carelessly, his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would go

'Cause they were painters and were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies covered the room walls
He put water colored roses in her
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,
made it an art to live by
They every passion, every home, created every beautiful child
In the they were weavers of warmth,
In the they were carpenters of love
thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and they had themselves
A world

one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was
She went 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 he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her
She them 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 soul in this life we've created with four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, 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 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 laugh along, and how he to hold her
When she was

'Cause they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

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

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