Painters Lyrics
Artist Jewel
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 she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go 'Cause
they were painters, and they had 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 they were painters, and they had painting themselves, 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 the summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow 'Cause they were
painters, and they had 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!'
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, but only 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 so 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 wind blew, she knew he was
listening And how he seemed to laugh along, an 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, 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 she and her canvas would follow him wherever he
would go Yes, she and her canvas still follow 'Cause they were painters, and
they had painting themselves, a lovely world
