Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and they were painting
A lovely

Oil daisies covered the living room walls
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 painter and I want to you
A way

So sat down and made a drawing of their love,
made it an art to live by
They painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful
In the winter were weavers of warmth,
In the summer they were 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 was wrong
She went running through the screaming,
"No God, take him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she he already had gone
She got to he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold
To me!"

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

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

'Cause they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the porch
Watching the roll by
remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago,
When she used carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just 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
they are painters and they are painting themselves
A world