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