Black Is the Colour Damien Rice

Black is the colour 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 go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep
For satisfied, I ne'er can be

Black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like somе roses fair
She has the sweetеst smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands

And I love the ground whereon she stands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
And I love the ground whereon she stands