| Now, black is the color of my true love's hair
|
| Her lips are like, some roses fair
|
| The sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands
|
| I love the ground, where on she stands
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| I love my love, and well she knows
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| I love the ground, where on she goes
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| I hope the day, will one day come
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| When she and I, will be as one
|
| Now, black is the color of my true love's hair
|
| Her lips are like, some roses fair
|
| The sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands
|
| Oh, I love the ground, where on she stands
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| I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
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| For satisfied, I never can be
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| I write her letters, just a few short lines
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| And suffer death, a thousand times
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| Now, black is the color of my true love's hair
|
| Her lips are like, some roses fair
|
| The sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands
|
| I love the ground, where on she stands
|
| I love the ground, where on she stands |