Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, on the front porch
the clouds roll 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 would follow him he would go

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies covered the living room
He put water 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"

'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 they were of warmth,
In the summer they were of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they them yellow

And they were painters and they had painted
A world

Until one day the rain as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew was wrong
She running through the orchard 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, water roses in his hands for her
She threw them screaming, "Damn you man, don't 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 soul in this life we've created these four hands
Love, I leave, but a little, this 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 came and seasons went
And many times she saw her love's face the flowers,
Talking to the and singing to his children,
And when the blew, she knew 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 themselves
A world

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

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