Peter Hollens - Hands of Gold

He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
O'er the winds and the steps and the cobbles
He rode to a woman 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
For hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm


And there he stood with sword in hand
The last of Darry's ten
And red the grass beneath his feet
And red his banners bright
And red the glow of the setting sun
That bathe him in its light
Come one, come one the great lord called
My sword is hungry still


And with a cry of savage rage
They swarmed across the rill
And with a cry of savage rage
They swarmed across the rill


He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
O'er the winds and the steps and the cobbles
He rode to a woman sigh
For she was his secret treasure
She was his shame and his bliss
For 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 x.4