BLACK IS THE COLOUR
Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some roses fair
She's the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands.
I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love and well she knows
I love the grass whereon she goes.
But I know the day it never will come
when she and I will be as one.
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines
and suffer death ten thousand times
I know my love and well she knows
I love the grass whereon she goes
If she on earth no more I see
My life will quickly fade away
© Trad. Arr. Connemara Stone Company
Verlag - Clay Hill Music
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