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Hamish Imlach
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Black Is the Colour
Well black is the colour of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some rose, so fair,
She has the sweetest face she has the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon he stands.
I love my love and well she knows,
I love the ground whereon she goes,
And how I wish the day would come
When she and I shall be as one
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep,
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But satisfied I never can be
Well I write you a letter, just a few short lines,
I'll suffer death a thousand times.
Yes black is the colour of my true love's hair.
Her lips are like some rose, so fair,
She has the sweetest face and the gentlest hands,
I love the ground whereon she stands.
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