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.