Jewel - Painters Lyrics
Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porchWatching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover, how he left herAnd of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted his portraitA thousand times - or maybe just his smile -And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would gocause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely worldOil streaked daisies covered the living room wallHe put water colored roses in her hairHe said, love, I love you, I want to give you the mountains, the sunshine, the sunset tooI just want to give you a world as beautiful as you are to mecause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely worldSo they sat down and made a drawing of their love, they made it an art to live byThey painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful childIn the winter they were weavers of warmth, in the summer they were carpenters of loveThey thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellowcause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely worldUntil one day the rain fell as thick as black oilAnd in her heart she knew something was wrongShe went running through the orchard screamingno god, dont take him from me!But by the time she got there, she feared he already had goneShe got to where he lay, water colored roses in his hands for herShe threw them down screaming, damn you man, dont leave meWith nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraitsTo remind me!He said, love I only leave, but only a little, try to understandI put my soul in this life weve created with these four handsLove, I leave, but only a little, this world holds me stillMy body may die now, but these paintings are realSo many seasons came and so many seasons wentAnd many times she saw her loves face watering the flowersTalking to the trees and singing to his childrenAnd when the wind blew, she knew he was listeningAnd how he seemed to laugh along, an how he seemed to hold her when she was cryingcause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely worldEighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porchWatching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover, how he left herAnd of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted his portraitA thousand times - or maybe just his smile -And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would goYes, she and her canvas still followcause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world
