Song Of Songs

Let him kiss me with the virgins love thee
Look not upon me because I am black

I am the rose of Sharon
And the lily of the valleys
As the lily among thorns
So is my love among the daughters

I sat down under his shadow
With great delight
And his fruit was sweet

And he was love, he was love
Comfort me with apples for

I am sick
Sick of love
So sick
Sick of love

Upon my bed I sought him
Open to me, my sister
My love, my dove, my undefiled

For my head
My head is filled, filled with dew
And my locks with the drops of the night

I opened to my beloved
But my beloved
Had withdrawn himself

I charge you
I charge you
Oh daughters, tell him

I am sick
Sick of love
So sick
Sick of love