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