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 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

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A world

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

'Cause I'm a painter and I 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 weavers of warmth,
In the summer they carpenters of love
They thought blue prints too sad so they made them yellow

And they were painters and had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she something was wrong
She went running the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't him from 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 threw them down screaming, "Damn you man, leave 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 with these four
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world me still
My body may die now, but paintings are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many came and many seasons went
And many times she saw her 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
When she was

'Cause were painters and they had painted themselves
A lovely

Eighty years, an old now, sitting on the front 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 times, or maybe just his smile,
Her and her would follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her still follow

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