Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

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

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A lovely

Oil daisies covered the living room walls
He put water colored roses in her
He said, "Love, I you,
I want to you the mountains, the sunshine,
The too
I to give you a world 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 it an art to live by
They painted every passion, every home, created beautiful child
In the they were weavers of warmth,
In the summer were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so made them yellow

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the rain fell as as black oil
And in her heart she something was wrong
She went running the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't take him me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he had gone
She got to where he lay, colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, don't me
With nothing left 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 created these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this holds me still
My body may die now, but these are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many seasons and many seasons went
And many times she saw her love's face the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And when the wind blew, she he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he to hold her
When she was

'Cause they were painters and they had painted
A lovely

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the porch
Watching the roll 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 follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her still follow

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