Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they painters and they were painting themselves
A world

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

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

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

And they were and they had painted themselves
A world

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, take him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he already had
She got to where he lay, water colored roses in his for her
She threw down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing 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 with 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 many seasons
And many times she saw her face watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and 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 painted
A lovely

Eighty years, an old lady now, on the front porch
Watching the roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he her, and of times long ago,
When she used color carelessly, painted his
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 are painting themselves
A
'Cause they are painters and are painting themselves
A world