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

'Cause they were painters and were painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies covered the room walls
He put colored roses in her hair
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"

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

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

And were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

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

He said, "Love I leave a little, try to understand
I put my soul in life we've created 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 times she saw her love's face watering the flowers,
to the trees and singing to his children,
And the wind 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 had painted themselves
A world

Eighty years, an old lady now, on the front 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 would follow him he would go
Yes, she and her canvas follow

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