Текст песни Peter Hollens - Hands of Gold

He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
Over 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 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.