High-flying Bird

           G                   
You wore a little cross of gold 
             C
around your neck,
  G                            
I saw it as you flew between my 
 D
reasons,
       Am                          
Like a raven in the night time when
     C
 you left.
         G                       
I wear a chain upon my wrist that 
          C
bears no name,
G                      D
You touched it and you wore it,
        Am                         
And you kept it in your pillow all 
    C
the same.
               G                   
My high-flying bird has flown from 
       C
out my arms,

                     Am
I thought myself her keeper,
                        D
She thought I meant her harm,
                      G
She thought I was the archer,
                 C
A weather man of words,
                  Fma7        C
But I could never shoot down,

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               G     Fma7 C  Fma7 C
My high-flying bird.

    G                           
The white walls of your dressing 
          C
room are stained in scarlet red.
    G                              
You bled upon the cold stone like a
 D
 young man,
Am                      C
In the foreign field of death.
G                           C
Wouldn't it be wonderful is all I 
heard you say,

          G                        
You never closed your eyes at night
                     D
 and learned to love daylight,
Am                C
Instead you moved away.

               G                   
My high-flying bird has flown from 
       C
out my arms,
                     Am
I thought myself her keeper,
                        D
She thought I meant her harm,
                      G
She thought I was the archer,
                 C
A weather man of words,
                  Fma7       C
But I could never shoot down,
               G                   
My high-flying bird has flown from 
       C
out my arms,
                     Am
I thought myself her keeper,
                        D
She thought I meant her harm,
                      G
She thought I was the archer,
                 C
A weather man of words,
                  Fma7       C
But I could never shoot down,

               G     Fma7 C  Fma7 C
My high-flying bird.

   G                        C
My high-flying, high-flying bird.
   G                        C
My high-flying, high-flying bird.
   G                        C     
My high-flying, high-flying bird.
    G