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Black is the colour of my true loves hair |
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His lips are like some roses fair |
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He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands |
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And I love the ground whereon he stands |
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I love my love and well he knows |
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I love the ground whereon he goes |
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I wish that day would soon come |
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When he and I can be as one |
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I go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep |
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For satisfied I never sleep |
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I write him letters just a few short lines |
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And I suffer death ten thousand times |
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Black is the colour of my true loves hair |
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His lips are like some roses fair |
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He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands |
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And I love the ground whereon he stands |
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I love the ground whereon he stands |
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I love I love I love the ground whereon he stands |
