Текст песни «Foreign Fields»

[2x:] My high-flying, high-flying bird My high-flying bird Has flown from out my arms I thought myself her keeper She thought I meant her harm [2x:] My high-flying, high-flying bird Sober in the morning light Things look so much different To how they looked last night As 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 [2x:] 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 down My high-flying bird [4x:] My high-flying, 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