Jewel - Painters lyrics

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Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch<br>Watching the clouds roll by they remind her of her lover, how he left her<br>And of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted his portrait<br>A thousand times - or maybe just his smile -<br>And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go<br>'cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world<br><br>Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall<br>He put water colored roses in her hair<br>He said, 'love, I love you, I want to give you the mountains, the sunshine, the sunset too'<br>I just want to give you a world as beautiful as you are to me<br>'cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world<br><br>So they sat down and made a drawing of their love, they made it an art to live by<br>They painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful child<br>In the winter they were weavers of warmth, in the summer they were carpenters of love<br>They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow<br>'cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world<br><br>Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil<br>And in her heart she knew something was wrong<br>She went running through the orchard screaming<br>'no god, don't take him from me!'<br>But by the time she got there, she feared he already had gone<br>She got to where he lay, water colored roses in his hands for her<br>She threw them down screaming, 'damn you man, don't leave me<br>With nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits<br>To remind me!'<br><br>He said, 'love I only leave, but only a little, try to understand<br>I put my soul in this life we've created with these four hands<br>Love, I leave, but only a little, this world holds me still<br>My body may die now, but these paintings are real'<br><br>So many seasons came and so many seasons went<br>And many times she saw her love's face watering the flowers<br>Talking to the trees and singing to his children<br>And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening<br>And how he seemed to laugh along, an how he seemed to hold her when she was crying<br>'cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world<br><br>Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch<br>Watching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover, how he left her<br>And of times long ago when she used color carelessly, painted his portrait<br>A thousand times - or maybe just his smile -<br>And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go<br>Yes, she and her canvas still follow<br><br>'cause they were painters, and they had painting themselves, a lovely world