Dedicated to...

You wore a little cross of gold around your neck
I saw it as you flew between my reason
Like a raven in the nighttime 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 high flying bird

The whitewalls of your dressing room are stained a scarlet red
You bled upon the cold stone like a young man
In the foreign field of death
Wouldn't it be wonderful Is all I heard you say
You never closed your eyes and learned to love daylight
Instead you moved away...

-High Flying Bird....Elton John..1972...I'm Only The Piano Player*

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