martes, 4 de octubre de 2016


Black is the color of my true love's hair

Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
And 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

For satisfied I never can be
I'll write her a letter just a few short lines
And I
Paul Weller, *Black is the colour.

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