Black Is The Colour - Paul Weller

Black is the colour

Of my true loves 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

Where on she goes

I wish 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 write her a letter

Just a few short lines

And die a death

A thousand times

Black is the colour

Of my true loves 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