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