High-flying Bird (Acordes)

7x

v. 1

[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.