Hands of Gold

He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
Over the winds and the steps and the cobbles
He rode to a woman's cry

For she was his secret treasure
She was his shame and 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