Light Of Day...

He cleans the barrel, looking through the shadows,
He knows the lead, the curve of every flight.
It’s not for glory, nor for heavy silver —
He seeks the logic in the fading light.

He sees the world within a thin-lined crossing,
Where every breath is just a mark to make.
But in this cold and endless calculation,
He finds no peace in every life he takes.

He knows the shot won’t change the way of nature,
And lead won't fix the world that’s gone astray.
Death doesn’t bring a new and better order,
It only adds more pain to light of day.
It only adds more pain to light of day...

Beneath the willow, by the river’s bending,
He hides the steel, wrapped in a heavy shroud.
Where once he stood, the law of stone defending,
He leaves the silence to the drifting cloud.

He’s not a saint, he simply chose the stillness,
And left the judgment to the sky above.
For every inch and every dark-won distance,
He paid with pieces of the things he loved.

He knows the shot won’t change the way of nature,
And lead won't fix the world that’s gone astray.
Death doesn’t bring a new and better order,
It only adds more pain to light of day.
It only adds more pain to light of day...

And if you ask him where he left his weapon,
He’ll watch the sun go down without a sound.
The shape of things is not in won or losing,
But knowing when to lay your burden down.