Someone says la la la la lalaMy high flyingHigh flying birdMy high-flying bird has flown from out my armsI thought myself her keeperShe thought I meant her harmMy high flyingHigh flying birdSober in the morning lightThings look so much differentTo how they looked last night'swhispers circulate all dayTheir back-stage baby princess passed awayThe white walls of your dressing roomAre stained in scarlet redYou bled upon the cold stone like a young manIn the foreign field of deathMy high-flying birdHas flown from out my armsI thought myself her keeperShe thought I meant her harmShe thought I was the archerA weather man of wordsMy high-flying birdHas flown from out my armsI thought myself her keeperShe thought I meant her harmShe thought I was the archerA weather man of wordsBut I could never shoot herMy high-flying birdMy high-flying bird...The white walls of your dressing roomAre stained in scarlet redYou bled upon the cold stone like a young manIn the foreign field of death
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My high-flying bird has flown from out my arms
I thought myself her keeper
She thought I meant her harm
My high flying
High flying bird
Sober in the morning light
Things look so much different
To how they looked last night's
whispers circulate all day
Their back-stage baby princess passed away
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
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
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 her
My high-flying bird
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
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