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Black is the Colour Christy Moore
[Am]Black is the [F]colour of my [G]true love's [Am]hair.
Her lips are [F]like some [C]roses [E]fai[(]r [E7] [)]
She had the sweetest [F]smile [C]and the gentlest [E]hand[(]s [E7] [)]
And I love the [F]ground [G]whereon she [Am]stands.
I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon 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 ne'er can be
I write her a letter just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times
Black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair
She had the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands.
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