posted September 27, 2006 03:24 PM              

Black is the colour

Trad

Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose so fair
She's got the sweetest face, she's got the gentlest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I have a wish the day would come
When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde, I mourn and weep
Satisfied I never can be
I write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times

Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands

I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish the day it soon would come
When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde, I mourn and weep
Satisfied I never can be
Then I write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times

For black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands