Standard (EADGBE)

 [ ] x 2

 You wore a little cross of gold around your neck,

 I saw it as you flew between my reasons,

 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 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.

 My high-flying, high-flying bird.

 My high-flying, high-flying bird.

 My high-flying, high-flying bird.

This is probably my favorite song on the "Don't Shoot Me" album.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.