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Paul weller

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 whereon 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 whereon she stands

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