Painters by Jewel Kilcher 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 Color carelessly Painted his portrait A thousand times Or maybe just his smile And 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 a world As beautiful as you are to me Cuz I'm a painter And I want to paint you A lovely world" So they sat down And made a drawing of their love 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 And they were painters And they were had painted themselves A lovely world Until one day the rains 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'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 winds blew She knew he was listening And how he seemed to laugh along And how he seemed to hold her When she was crying Cuz 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 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 her and her canvas would follow him Wherever he would go Yes, she and her canvas still follow Cuz they are painters And they are painting themselves A lovely... Yes they are painters And they are painting themselves A lovely world
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