Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times ago,
When she used 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 lovely

Oil streaked daisies 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 give you a as beautiful as you are to me"

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

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

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A lovely

Until one day the rain fell as as black oil
And in her heart she something was wrong
She went running through the screaming,
"No God, don't take him me!"
But by the time she got there, she he already had gone
She got to where he lay, colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, leave me
nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I leave 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 me still
My body may die now, but these 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,
Talking to the and singing 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
When she was

'Cause they painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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 times 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
Yes, she and her canvas follow

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