The Corrs. Black Is The Colour. Zeneszám

Black is the color of my true love's hair.
His lips are like some roses fair
He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands.

I love my love and well he knows,
I love the ground whereon he goes,
And I wish the day it soon will come
That he and I will be as one.

I'll go to the Clyde and I'll mourn and weep,
For satisfied I'll ne'er sleep.
I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines,
I'll suffer death ten thousand times.

(Repeat first line)