• Black is the colour

    Black is the colour of my true loves hair
    His lips are like some roses fair
    He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
    And I love the ground whereon he stands
    I love my love and well he knows
    I love the ground whereon he goes
    I wish that day would soon come
    When he and I can be as one

    I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
    For satisfied I never sleep
    I write him letters just a few short lines
    And I suffer death ten thousand times

    Black is the colour of my true loves hair
    His lips are like some roses fair
    He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
    And I love the ground whereon he stands
    I love I love I love the ground whereon he stands


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