Black Is The Colour کے بول

Black is the colour, Of my true love's hair. Her lips are like a rose so fair. She's got the sweetest smile And the gentlest hands. I love the ground, whereon she stands. I love my love and well she knows. I love the ground, whereon she goes. And how I wish the day would come, Where she and I can be as one. So I moved to clyde, and mourn and weep. "Cause satisfied, I'll never be. I'll write her letters, Just a few short lines, And suffer death ten thousand times. Black is the colour, Of my true love's hair. Her lips are like a rose so fair. She's got the sweetest smile And the gentlest hands.