~Jewel~ *Painters*
Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch... watching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover and how he left her, and of times long ago... when she used color carelessly, painted his portrait a 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 were painting themselves a lovely world
Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall...
He put water colored roses in her hair, he said "love, I love you...I want to give you the mountains, the
sunshine, the sunset too...I just want to give you a world as, beautiful as you...are, to me..."
'Cause they were painters, and they were painting themselves, a lovely world
So they sat down and made a drawing of their love... they made it an Art to live by, they painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child... in the winter they were weavers of warmth... in the summer, they were carpenters of love they thought blue prints were too sad, so they made them yellow...
'Cause they were painters, and they were painting themselves, a lovely world
Until one day the rain fell, as thick as black oil...
And in her heart she knew something was wrong... she 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 gone... she got to where he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her... she threw them down screaming, "damn you man don't leave me... with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits, to remind me..."
He said, "Love I leave, but only a little... try to understand... I put my soul in this life, we've created with these four hands... love I leave, but only a little... this world holds me still... my body may die now, but these paintings are real..."
So many seasons came, and many seasons went... and many times she saw her love's face, watering the flowers,
talking to the trees... and singing to his children. And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening and seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her when she was crying...
'Cause they were painters, and they had painted themselves, a lovely world
Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch... watching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover and how he left her... and of times long ago... when she used color carelessly, painted his portrait a thousand times... or maybe just his smile...
and she and her canvas would follow him, wherever he would go... yes her and her canvas still follow...
'Cause they were painters, and they had painted themselves, a lovely world
and she and her canvas would follow him, wherever he would go...
'Cause they were painters, and they were painting themselves a lovely world
Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall...
He put water colored roses in her hair, he said "love, I love you...I want to give you the mountains, the
sunshine, the sunset too...I just want to give you a world as, beautiful as you...are, to me..."
'Cause they were painters, and they were painting themselves, a lovely world
So they sat down and made a drawing of their love... they made it an Art to live by, they painted every passion, every home, created every beautiful child... in the winter they were weavers of warmth... in the summer, they were carpenters of love they thought blue prints were too sad, so they made them yellow...
'Cause they were painters, and they were painting themselves, a lovely world
Until one day the rain fell, as thick as black oil...
And in her heart she knew something was wrong... she 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 gone... she got to where he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her... she threw them down screaming, "damn you man don't leave me... with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits, to remind me..."
He said, "Love I leave, but only a little... try to understand... I put my soul in this life, we've created with these four hands... love I leave, but only a little... this world holds me still... my body may die now, but these paintings are real..."
So many seasons came, and many seasons went... and many times she saw her love's face, watering the flowers,
talking to the trees... and singing to his children. And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening and seemed to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her when she was crying...
'Cause they were painters, and they had painted themselves, a lovely world
Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch... watching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover and how he left her... and of times long ago... when she used color carelessly, painted his portrait a thousand times... or maybe just his smile...
and she and her canvas would follow him, wherever he would go... yes her and her canvas still follow...
'Cause they were painters, and they had painted themselves, a lovely world