'cause a woman's hands are always warm.

He left the spark of the city,

to meet that coveted flight,

and rode aside reality,

through doubt, faith and night.

For she was his final goal,

she was his secret, and his gist.

And even Hell seemed cold,

compared to her loving kiss.

For just one drug can be mender

a woman's hug, is always tender.

Strolling through all time,

crossing sources, rocks and dawn.

No refs, no rules, no chime,

with her all his cares were gone.

For she was his greatest weakness,

she was his bait and his buoy.

And even Heaven lacked some brightness

compared to that white, woman's joy.

For just one thing can't be arty

a woman's love, is all you fancy.

:D