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Last night my kisses were banked in black hair |
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And in my bed, my lover, her hair was midnight black |
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And all her mystery dwelled within her black hair |
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And her black hair framed a happy heart-shaped face |
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And heavy-hooded eyes inside her black hair |
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Shined at me frome the depths of her hair of deepest black |
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While my fingers pushed into her straight black hair |
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Pulling her black hair back from her happy heart-shaped face |
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To kiss her milk-white throat, a dark curtain of black hair |
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Smothered me, my lover with her beautiful black hair |
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The smell of it is heavy. It is charged with life |
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On my fingers the smell of her deep black hair |
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Full of all my whispered words, her black hair |
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And wet with tears and good-byes, her hair of deepest black |
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All my tears cried against her milk-white throat |
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Hidden behind the curtain of her beautiful black hair |
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As deep as ink and black, black as the deepest sea |
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The smell of her black hair upon my pillow |
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Where her head and all its black hair did rest |
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Today she took a train to the West |
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Today she took a train to the West |
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Today she took a train to the West |