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

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 weather man of words

But I could never shoot down

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

In the foreign field of death

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 weather man of words

But I could never shoot down

My high-flying bird

From out my arms

I thought myself her keeper

She thought I meant her harm

She thought I was the archer

A weather man of words

But I could never shoot down

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