Lyrics
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
Of times long ago
When she used to color carelessly, painted his portrait
A thousand times, or maybe just his smile
Her and her canvas would follow him wherever they 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 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
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 wInter they were weavers of warmth
In summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blueprints were too sad so they made them yellow
And they were painters and they had painted 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
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 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
La-de-di, La-de-di, La-de-di
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
When the wind blew, she knew he was listening
How he seemed to laugh along and 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 and how he left her
And of times long ago, when she would color carelessly
Painted his portrait a thousand times, or maybe just his smile
Her and her canvas would follow him wherever they would go
Yes, her and her canvas still follow
'Cause they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely
Because they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world
