He rode through the streets of the cityDown from his hill on highO'er the wynds and the steps and the cobbleHe rode to a woman's sighFor she was his secret treasureShe was his shame and his blissAnd a chain and a keep are nothingCompared to a woman's kiss[Refrain]For hands of gold are always coldBut a woman's hands are warmFor hands of gold are always coldBut a woman's hands are warm