Luyện nghe bài hát Painters

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
the clouds roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times 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

'Cause they were painters and they painting themselves
A world

Oil streaked daisies covered the room walls
He put water 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 world as as you are to me"

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

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

And they painters and they had painted themselves
A world

Until one day the rain fell as as black oil
And in her she knew something was wrong
She went running the orchard screaming,
"No God, don't him from me!"
But by the time she got there, she feared he 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 behind but these cold paintings, these cold
To me!"

He said, "Love I only leave a little, try to
I put my in this life we've created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little, this world me still
My body may die now, but these are real"
La li lai la li lai la li lai

So many came and many seasons went
And many she saw her love's face watering the flowers,
Talking to the trees and to his children,
And when the blew, she knew he was listening,
And how he seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to her
she was crying

'Cause were painters and they had painted themselves
A world

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front
Watching the clouds by
remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago,
When she used color carelessly, painted his
A thousand times, or maybe his smile,
Her and her canvas follow him wherever he would go
Yes, she and her canvas still

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