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
And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go
'Cause I'm a painter and i want to paint you a lovely world
A lovely world
Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall
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 they were painters and they were 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 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 buy the time she got there she feared he already had gone
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 leave but only 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 she and her canvas still follow
Because they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world