Taking Aim #1

Words and music by Bill Price

In the sights, a child
Cold, the aim
What's holy - what is wild?
One and the same?

He holds a mystery in his hand
He dances freely on the sand

He looks to the sky - his fate has flown

A puff of smoke - obscurity
A figure falls - a figure flees

But the river remains and the sun still roams
Like a dream he flies away home

© 2015 Mr. Quill Music (BMI)