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Fields of Gold

de Peter Hollens

He rode through the streets of the city
Down from his hill on high
O'er the winds and the steppes and the cobble
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

And there he stood with sword in hand
The Last of Darry's ten
And red the grass beneath his feet
And red his banner's bright
And red the glow of the setting sun that bathe him in its light
Come one, come on, 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 steppes and the cobble
He rode to a woman's side
For she was his secret treasure
She was his shame and his bliss
For 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

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