And who are you, the proud lord said,
That I must bow so low?

Only a cat from a different coat,
That's all the truth I know.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
A lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
As long and sharp as yours.

Oh hands of gold are always cold
But a woman’s hands are warm
Yes hands of gold are always cold
But a woman’s hands are warm

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
That lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his halls,
With no one there to hear,
Yes now the rains weep o'er his halls,
And not a soul to hear.