Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked covered the living room walls
He put water roses 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 to paint you
A way

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

And they were painters and they had painted
A world

Until one day the fell as thick as black oil
And in her she knew something was wrong
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 where he lay, water colored roses in his for her
She threw down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, cold portraits
To me!"

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

So many seasons came and seasons went
And many times she saw her love's face the flowers,
to the trees and singing to his children,
And when the blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he to hold her
When she was

'Cause they painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds 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 would follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her still follow

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