Paul Weller
"Black Is The Colour"

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