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  • 作词 : John, Taupin
    作曲 : Elton John & Bernie Taupin
    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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    My, 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
    Hmm, in the foreign field of death
    Oh, 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 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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    MyMy 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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    My, 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
  • 作词 : John, Taupin
    作曲 : Elton John & Bernie Taupin
    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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    My, 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
    Hmm, in the foreign field of death
    Oh, 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 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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    MyMy 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 weatherman of words
    But I could never shoot down
    My, 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