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
Mm-hmm, 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 sameMy 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) my high-flying birdThe 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 awayMy 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) 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) my high-flying birdMy high-flying, high-flying bird
My high-flying, high-flying bird
My high-flying, high-flying bird
My high-flying, high-flying bird