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Peter Hollens
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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 cobble
He rode to 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 a hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
For a 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 tem
And red the grass beneath his feet
And red his banners bright
And red the glow of setting sun
That bathed him in its light
Come on, come on the great lord called
My sword is hungry still
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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 cobble
He rode to 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 a hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
For a hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
For a hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
For a hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
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