| Last night my kisses were banked in black hair
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| And in my bed my lover her hair was midnight black
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| And all her mystery dwelled within her black hair
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| And her black hair framed a happy heart shaped face
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| And heavy hooded eyes inside her black hair
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| Shined at me from the depths of her hair of deepest black
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| While my fingers pushed into her straight black hair
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| Pulling her black hair back from her happy heart-shaped face
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| To kiss her milk-white throat, a dark curtain of black hair
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| Smothered me, my lover with her beautiful black hair
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| The smell of it is heavy. |
| It is charged with life
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| On my fingers the smell of her deep black hair
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| Full of all my whispered words, her black hair
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| And wet with tears and good-byes, her hair of deepest black
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| All my tears cried against her milk-white throat
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| Hidden behind the curtain of her beautiful black hair
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| As deep as ink and black, black as the deepest sea
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| The smell of her black hair upon my pillow
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| Where her head and all its black hair did rest
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| Today she took a train to the West
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| Today she took a train to the West
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| Today she took a train to the West |