Black Is the Color (of My True Love’s Hair) — Gregory Porter

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Traditional Folk Song

Black, black, black
Is the color of my true love’s hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile and gentlest hands,
I love the ground
Whereon she 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,
But satisfied I never could sleep.
I’ll write her a letter, just a few short lines
And suffer death a thousand times.

Black is the color of my true love’s hair.
Her lips are like some roses fair,
I love the ground whereon she stands.

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