Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked daisies the living room walls
He put colored 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"

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

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

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

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

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

So many seasons came and many went
And many times she saw her love's watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and 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
she was crying

'Cause were painters and they had painted themselves
A world

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
Watching the roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of long ago,
she used 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 still follow

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