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 weather-man of words,
But I could never shoot down
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
In the foreign field of death. „Wouldn’t it be wonderful?“ is all I heard you say,
You never closed your eyes at night, and learnt to love daylight –
Instead you moved away.