Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A world

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

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

So they sat down and made a of their 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
They blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and they had painted
A world

Until one day the rain fell as thick as oil
And in her heart she knew something was
She running through the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he already had
She got to where he lay, colored roses in his hands 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 only 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 me still
My may die now, but these paintings are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many seasons came and many seasons
And many times she saw her love's watering the flowers,
Talking to the and singing to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he seemed to along, and how he seemed to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A world

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

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