Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and they were themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies 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 as beautiful as you are to me"

'Cause I'm a 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
painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child
In the winter they were of warmth,
In the summer they carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she something was wrong
She went running through the screaming,
"No God, don't him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he had gone
She got to he lay, water 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 leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in life we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, world holds me still
My body may die now, but 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,
to the trees and singing to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to her
she was crying

'Cause they painters and they had painted themselves
A world

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

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