I - Black is the Color
Black, black, black is the color of my true love's hair
He sings of her, but I dream of him.
Her lips are like a rose so fair.
He smiles and the sun shines through the clouds.
And the prettiest face and the neatest hands.
Strong jaw, beautiful voice, and eyes that see right through me,
I love the grass where-on she stands,
His fingers pluck the guitar with a touch I crave.
She with the wondrous hair.
Does he see me? Does he know? I walk away, his voice fades.
Black is the
color . . . he with the wondrous hair.
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