The Blackest Crow

The blackest crow that ever flew would slowly turn to white
If ever I prove false to you, bright day would turn to night
Bright day would turn to night, my love, yellow moons would mourn
If ever I prove false to you, the seas would rage and burn
I wish my heart was made of glass, wherein you might behold
That there your name was wrote, my love, in letters made of bone
There your name was wrote, my love
Believe me when I say that you are the only one for me, until my dying day