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