Hands Of Gold

For hands of gold are always cold

But a woman's hands are warm

He rode through the streets of the city,

Down from his hill on high

O'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbles

He rode to a woman's sigh.

For she was his secret treasure

She was his shame and his bliss

And a chain and a keep are nothing

Compared to a woman's kiss

For hands of gold are always cold

but a woman's hands are warm

Stealing away in the darkness

Through the hour of the wolf, 'till dawn

No five kings, no war, no lost brother

With her, all his cares were gone

For she was his greatest pleasure

She was his shame and his pride

And the view from a tower is nothing

Compared to a woman's eyes

For hands of gold are always cold

But a woman's hands are warm