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Текст песни Jewel - Painters

Jewel - Painters слова песни




Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porchWatching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover, how he leftherAnd of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted hisportraitA thousand times - or maybe just his smile -And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go`Cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovelyworldOil streaked daisies covered the living room wallHe put water colored roses in her hairHe said, "Love, I love you, I want to give you the mountains, thesunshine, the sunset too"I just want to give you a world as beautiful as you are to me`Cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovelyworldSo they sat down and made a drawing of their love, they made it an artto live byThey painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful childIn the winter they were weavers of warmth, in the summer they werecarpenters of loveThey thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow`Cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovelyworldUntil one day the rain fell as thick as black oilAnd in her heart she knew something was wrongShe went running through the orchard screaming`No God, don`t take him from me!`But by the time she got there, she feared he already had goneShe got to where he lay, water colored roses in his hands for herShe threw them down screaming, `Damn you man, don`t leave meWith nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these coldportraitsto remind me!`He said, `Love I only leave, but only a little, try to understandI put my soul in this life we`ve created with these four handsLove, I leave, but only a little, this world holds me stillMy body may die now, but these paintings are real`So many seasons came and so many seasons wentAnd many times she saw her love`s face watering the flowersTalking to the trees and singing to his childrenAnd when the wind blew, she knew he was listeningAnd how he seemed to laugh along, an how he seemed to hold her whenshe was crying`Cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovelyworldEighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porchWatching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover, how he leftherAnd of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted hisportraitA thousand times - or maybe just his smile -And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would goYes, she and her canvas still follow`Cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovelyworld

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