He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
O'er the winds and the steps and the cobbles
He rode to a woman's side
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
For hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm.
And there he stood with sword in hand
The last of Derry's ten
And red the grass beneath his feet
And red his banners bright
And red the blow of the setting sun
That bathed him in its light
C'mon c'mon the great lord called
My sword is hungry still.
And with the cry of savage rage
They swarmed across the rill
And with the 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 cobbles
He rode to a woman's side,
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
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
For hands of gold are always cold
But a woman's hands are warm
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