[Verse] Sunset bleeds through the cottonwoods low, Peaches on the table in a dusty row. Skinny boy with a fiddle at the corner, Playin’ tunes that don’t end where they began. [Pre-Chorus] Dust on the strings, and the light’s run thin, Like the hand you held in the field in June. [Chorus] Oh, Saturday, you’re a slow goodbye, Sweet as the pie with the crumb on the side. Fiddle hums low, and the past don’t lie— Just a name, a face, and the sky’s on fire. Saturday, Saturday, burnin’ gentle, Like your voice when you said “I’ll be home later.” [Verse] Old lady sells lemonade with a cracked glass, Says “Time don’t wait, but it walks slow, pass.” I trace your name in the wood of the stall— A ghost of a laugh, and the air grows small. [Pre-Chorus] Dust on the strings, and the light’s run thin, Like the hand you held in the field in June. [Chorus] Oh, Saturday, you’re a slow goodbye, Sweet as the pie with the crumb on the side. Fiddle hums low, and the past don’t lie— Just a name, a face, and the sky’s on fire. Saturday, Saturday, burnin’ gentle, Like your voice when you said “I’ll be home later.” [Bridge] The market’s closing, the lights start to dim, But the music still echoes where we used to be. You weren’t gone, not really— Just somewhere I can almost see. [Chorus] Oh, Saturday, you’re a slow goodbye, Sweet as the pie with the crumb on the side. Fiddle hums low, and the past don’t lie— Just a name, a face, and the sky’s on fire. Saturday, Saturday, burnin’ gentle, Like your voice when you said “I’ll be home later.” [Outro] Fiddle hums low… Still hear you say… “I’ll be home later.”