Paul Weller

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