Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the 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 just his smile,
Her and her canvas would him wherever he would go

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A lovely

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

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

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

And were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain as thick as black oil
And in her she knew something was wrong
She running through the orchard screaming,
"No God, take him from 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 threw down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With left 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 with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world holds me
My may die now, but these 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 face the flowers,
to the trees and singing 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 painters and they had themselves
A world

years, an old lady 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 used carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just his smile,
Her and her would follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas follow

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