High-flying Bird

(início)

[G   Fmaj7 C  Fmaj7  C] (2x)
           G                                C
You wore a little cross of gold around your neck,
  G                             D
I saw it as you flew between my reasons,
       Am                               C
Like a raven in the night time when you left.
         G                                 C
I wear a chain upon my wrist that bears no name,
G                      D
You touched it and you wore it,
        Am                             C
And you kept it in your pillow all the same.
               G                          C
My high-flying bird has flown from 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,
                  Fmaj7        C
But I could never shoot down,
               G     Fmaj7 C  Fmaj7 C
My high-flying bird.
    G                                     C
The white walls of your dressing room are stained in scarlet red.
    G                               D
You bled upon the cold stone like a young man,
Am                      C
In the foreign field of death.
G                           C
Wouldn't it be wonderful is all I heard you say,
          G                                             D
You never closed your eyes at night and learned to love daylight,
Am                C
Instead you moved away.
               G                          C
My high-flying bird has flown from 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,
                  Fmaj7       C
But I could never shoot down,
               G                          C
My high-flying bird has flown from 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,
                  Fmaj7       C
But I could never shoot down,
               G     Fmaj7 C  Fmaj7 C
My high-flying bird.
   G                        C
My high-flying, high-flying bird.
   G                        C
My high-flying, high-flying bird.
   G                        C         G
My high-flying, high-flying bird.