Black Is The Colour - Paul Weller

Black is the color 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 where on she stands.

I love my love and well she knows

I love the ground whereon she goes.

I whish the day it soon would come

When she and I could be as one

I go to the Clyde

And I mourn and weep

For satisfied I never can be

I’ll write her a letter,

just a few short lines

And I owe death a thousand times

Black is the color of my true love’s hair

Her lips are like red roses fair

She has the sweetest smile

And the gentlest hands.

And I love the ground where on she stands