Tom: Am
Am F Em Am
Black is the color of my true love's hair
Am F Em Am
His face is like some wondrous fair
Am F Em Am
With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
Am F Em Am
I love the ground whereon he stands
I love my love and well he knows
I love the ground whereon he goes
If you know mire and of the sea
I answer you as you have me (?)
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
But satisfied I never can sleep
I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines
I'll suffer death one thousand times
Black is the color of my true love's hair
His face is like some wondrous fair
With the prettiest face and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands
