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 times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her canvas would him wherever he would go

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A world

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

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

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

And they were painters and they had themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain fell as thick as oil
And in her heart she knew something was
She went running 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 he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't me
With left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to
I put my in this life we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this holds 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 seasons went
And times she saw her love's face 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
When she was

'Cause they were painters and they had painted
A world

Eighty years, an old lady now, on the front 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 him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas still

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