Peter Hollens - Hands of gold

He ^Amrode through the streets of the city Down ^Gfrom his hill on ^Emhigh O'er the ^Amwinds and the steppes and the cobbles He ^Grode to a woman's ^Emside For ^Amshe was his secret treasure She ^Gwas his shame and his ^Embliss And a ^Amchain and a keep are nothing Com^Empared to a woman's ^Gkiss

For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Fwarm For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Amwarm

And ^Amthere he stood with sword in hand The ^GLast of Darry's ^Emten And ^Amred the grass beneath his feet and ^Gred his banner's ^Embright And ^Amred the glow of the setting sun that ^Gbathe him in its ^Emlight "Come ^Amone, come on", the great lord called, "my ^Emsword is hungry ^Gstill".

And ^Fwith the cry of ^Gsavage rage they ^Amswarmed a^Emcross the ^Frill And ^Fwith the cry of ^Gsavage rage they ^Amswarmed a^Emcross the ^Amrill

He ^Amrode through the streets of the city Down ^Gfrom his hill on ^Emhigh

O'er the ^Amwinds and the steppes and the cobbles He ^Grode to a woman's ^Emside

For ^Amshe was his secret treasure She ^Gwas his shame and his ^Embliss And a ^Amchain and a keep are nothing Com^Empared to a woman's ^Gkiss

For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Fwarm For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Fwarm For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Fwarm For ^Fhands of gold are ^Galways cold But a ^Amwoman's ^Emhands are ^Amwarm