Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they painters and they were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies 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 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 of their love,
made it an art to live by
They painted every passion, every home, created every child
In the winter they were of warmth,
In the summer they carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made yellow

And they painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her she knew something was wrong
She went running the orchard screaming,
"No God, take him from 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 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 leave a little, try to
I put my soul in this life we've created with four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, world holds 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 love's watering the flowers,
Talking to the 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 painted
A world

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

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