Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
Watching the clouds by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of long 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

'Cause were painters and they were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked 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 you a world as beautiful 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 passion, every home, created every beautiful child
In the they were weavers of warmth,
In the summer they carpenters of love
thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

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

He said, "Love I leave 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 holds me still
My may die now, but these paintings are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many came and many seasons went
And times she saw her love's 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
When she was

'Cause they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Eighty years, an old now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the roll 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 would follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas follow

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