Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old now, sitting 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 carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just his smile,
Her and her canvas follow him wherever he would go

'Cause they were painters and they were painting
A lovely

Oil streaked daisies the living room walls
He put colored roses in her hair
He said, "Love, I you,
I want to 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 and made a drawing of their love,
They made it an art to by
painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child
In the winter they weavers of warmth,
In the summer were carpenters of love
They thought prints were too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the rain as thick as black oil
And in her she knew 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, water colored roses in his for her
She them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't leave me
With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, cold portraits
To me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to
I put my soul in this we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this 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 went
And many times she saw her face watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to along, and how he seemed to hold her
she was crying

'Cause they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds by
They her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago,
When she color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or just his smile,
Her and her canvas would follow him he would 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 lovely