Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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, painted his
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas would him wherever he would go

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

And they were and they had painted themselves
A world

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

He said, "Love I leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world me still
My body may die now, but paintings are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many 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 blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to her
When she was

'Cause were painters and they 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 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 wherever he go
Yes, she and her canvas still

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