[Verse] Morning dust kicks up beneath my boots, Sun climbs slow, painting gold on faded fruit. Folks gather 'round where the old fences line, Peaches sweet, and the scent of fresh-baked pies. [Pre-Chorus] Fiddles hum a tune we've known so long, Like a worn-out story told in every song. [Chorus] Saturday market, time stands still, Underneath the sun, with a heart to fill. Peaches, pies, and a fiddle's cry— Simple things that keep the soul alive. [Verse] Children laughing, chasing through the rows, Dusty air holds the dreams no one outgrows. Every smile's a memory in disguise, Wrapped in the warmth of homemade apple pie. [Pre-Chorus] Fiddles hum a tune we've known so long, Like a worn-out story told in every song. [Chorus] Saturday market, time stands still, Underneath the sun, with a heart to fill. Peaches, pies, and a fiddle's cry— Simple things that keep the soul alive. [Bridge] Even when the sun sets low and fades, This old town’s heartbeat never strays. In every corner, in every smile, That dusty market lingers awhile. [Chorus] Saturday market, time stands still, Underneath the sun, with a heart to fill. Peaches, pies, and a fiddle's cry— Simple things that keep the soul alive. [Chorus] Saturday market, time stands still, Underneath the sun, with a heart to fill. Peaches, pies, and a fiddle's cry— Simple things that keep the soul alive. [Outro] Dusty roads and open skies, Saturday market in my mind’s eye.