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
And she 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
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
Cause 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
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 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
And how he seamed to laugh along
And how he seemed to hold her
When she was crying
Cause they were painters
And they were 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 to 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, her and her canvas still follow
Because they are painters
And they are painting themselves
Because they are painters
A lovely
And they are painting themselves
A lovely world