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 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 awayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
