Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies the living room walls
He put water colored in her hair
He said, "Love, I you,
I to give you the mountains, the sunshine,
The too
I want to give you a world as as you are to me"

'Cause I'm a painter and I to paint you
A way

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

And were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

Until one day the fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was
She went through 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 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 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, this world holds me
My may die now, but these 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 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 laugh along, and how he to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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

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