Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the porch
Watching the clouds by
They remind her of her lover, how he 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 wherever he go

'Cause they were painters and were painting themselves
A lovely

Oil daisies covered the living 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 give you a as beautiful as you are to me"

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

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

And they were painters and they had themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew was wrong
She went through the orchard screaming,
"No God, take him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he had gone
She got to where he lay, water colored roses in his for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't me
With left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I only a little, try to understand
I put my in this life we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world holds me
My body may die now, but these 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,
to the trees and singing to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to her
she was crying

'Cause they painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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

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