Painters

Eighty years An old lady now Sitting on the front porch Watching the clouds roll by They remind her of her lover, how he left her Of times long ago When she used to color carelessly, painted his portrait A thousand times, or maybe just his smile Her and her canvas would follow him wherever they 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 mountains, the sunshine The sunset too I just want to give you a world as beautiful as You are to me 'Cause I'm a painter and I want to paint you 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 wInter they were weavers of warmth In summer they were carpenters of love They thought blueprints were too sad so they made them yellow And they were painters and they had painted 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 And 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 only leave a little Try to understand I put my soul in this life we 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 La-de-di, La-de-di, La-de-di 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 When the wind blew, she knew he was listening How he seemed to laugh along and how he seemed to hold her When she was crying 'Cause they were painters and they had painting 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 would color carelessly Painted his portrait a thousand times, or maybe just his smile Her and her canvas would follow him wherever they would go Yes, her and her canvas still follow 'Cause they are painters and they are painting themselves A lovely Because they are painters and they are painting themselves A lovely world