|
You wore a little cross |
|
Of gold around your neck |
|
I saw it as you flew between my reason |
|
Like a raven in the night time when you left |
|
I wear a chain upon my wrist |
|
That bears no name |
|
You touched it and you wore it |
|
And you kept it in your pillow all the same |
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My high-flying bird |
|
Has flown from out my arms |
|
I thought myself her keeper |
|
She thought |
|
I meant her harm |
|
She thought |
|
I was the archer |
|
A weatherman of words |
|
But I could never shoot down |
|
My, my high-flying bird |
|
The white walls of your dressing room |
|
Are stained in scarlet red |
|
You bled upon the cold stone |
|
Like a young man |
|
Hmm, in the foreign field of death |
|
Oh, wouldn't it be wonderful? |
|
Is all I heard you say |
|
You never closed your eyes at night |
|
And learned to love daylight |
|
Instead you moved away |
|
My high-flying bird |
|
Has flown from out my arms |
|
I thought myself her keeper |
|
She thought |
|
I meant her harm |
|
She thought |
|
I was the archer |
|
A weatherman of words |
|
But I could never shoot down |
|
MyMy high-flying bird |
|
Has flown from out my arms |
|
I thought myself her keeper |
|
She thought |
|
I meant her harm |
|
She thought |
|
I was the archer |
|
A weatherman of words |
|
But I could never shoot down |
|
My, my high-flying bird |
|
My high-flying, high-flying bird |
|
My high-flying, high-flying bird |
|
My high-flying, high-flying bird |
|
My high-flying, high-flying bird |
