Tall Like Tyrion
Hands of Gold
He rode through the streets of the cityDown from his hill on highOver the winds and the steps and the cobblesHe rode to a woman's cryFor she was his secret treasureShe was his shame and blissAnd a chain and a keep are nothingCompared to a woman's kissFor hands of gold are always cold but a woman's hands are warmFor hands of gold are always cold but a woman's hands are warm
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