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