Black is the color of my true love's hair His face is like some wondrous fair With the prettiest face and the neatest hands I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love And well he knows I love the ground whereon he goes If you know mark on earth I see I counciled you as you have me
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep But satisfied I never can sleep I write him a letter just a few short lines I suffer death one thousand times
Black is the color of my true love's hair His face is like some wondrous fair With the prettiest face and the neatest hands I love the ground whereon he stands
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