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 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

'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
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"
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 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

'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
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 

'Cause 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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