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 her, and of times long ago,
When she used color carelessly, painted his
A times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would go

'Cause they were and they were painting themselves
A world

Oil daisies covered the living room walls
He put water colored roses in her
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 and I want to paint you
A way

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

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

one day the rain fell as thick 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 he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I leave a little, try to understand
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 came and many seasons went
And many times she saw her love's face the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

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 times ago,
When she color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would go
Yes, she and her still follow

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