Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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 color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her would follow him wherever he would go

'Cause were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked covered the living room walls
He put water colored in her hair
He said, "Love, I you,
I want to 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 they sat 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 they were weavers of warmth,
In the summer they were of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

one day the rain fell as thick as black 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 he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water colored roses in his for her
She them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

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

So seasons came and many seasons went
And many she saw her love's face watering the flowers,
to the trees and singing to his children,
And when the blew, she knew 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 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 used carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas follow

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