Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
Watching the clouds by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of long 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 painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely

Oil streaked 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 want to you a world as beautiful 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 made it an art to by
They painted every passion, home, created every beautiful child
In the they were weavers of warmth,
In the summer were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them

And they were and they had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the rain fell as thick as oil
And in her heart she something was wrong
She went running the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't take him me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he had gone
She got to where he lay, water roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, leave me
With nothing left behind but 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 with these four
Love, I leave, but only a little, world holds me still
My may die now, but these paintings are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many seasons and many seasons went
And many times she saw her love's 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
she was crying

'Cause they were painters and had painted themselves
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 times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her canvas follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her still follow

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