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 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 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 the winter they were weavers of warmth
In summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad
So they made them yellow
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!'
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'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 loves face watering the flowers
Talking to the trees and singing to his children
And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening 'nd how he seamed to laugh along
How he seemed to hold her when she was crying
'Cause they were painters and they have 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
How he left her and 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 he would go
Yes, her and her canvas still follow
'Cause they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely
'Cause they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world