Foreign Fields
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
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
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
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
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
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
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
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
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
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
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
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
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
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
My high-flying, high-flying bird,
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
Credits
Writer(s): Bernie Taupin, Elton John, Peter Bruce Mayes, Davey Johnstone, Nicholas George Littlemore
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
Other Album Tracks
- Good Morning To The Night
- Sad
- Black Icy Stare
- Foreign Fields
- Telegraph To The Afterlife
- Phoenix
- Karmatron
- Sixty
- Sad - Seamus Haji Remix
- Sad - The 2 Bears Remix
All Album Tracks: Good Morning To The Night (Deluxe Version) >
Altri album
- Good Morning To The Night (Pnau's Rock The Games Extended Mix)
- Good Morning To The Night
- Good Morning To The Night (Deluxe)
- Good Morning To The Night: Radio Interview - Q & A with Peter Mayes and Nick Littlemore (Deluxe Version)
- Good Morning To The Night (Deluxe Version)
- Good Morning to the Night
- Good Morning To The Night (Remixes)
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