text: 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
  Wouldnt 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
  My high-flying, high-flying bird