Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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, his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would go

'Cause they were painters and were painting themselves
A lovely

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

And they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

Until one day the rain as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew was wrong
She went running 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, colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
nothing left behind 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 hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world 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 love's face the flowers,
Talking to the and singing to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to her
When she was

'Cause were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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 color carelessly, painted his
A times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her canvas would him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas still

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