Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A world

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

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

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

And they painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain fell as 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 time she got there, she feared he had gone
She got to where he lay, water colored in his hands for her
She threw them screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

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

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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

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