ange, Wounds will heal, with the morning sun's embrace. Patience is a virtue, in life's journey vast, Time to time, you'll find the essence at last. (Bridge) In our race against time, we often lose sight, But in the smallest details, we find our light. Let life flow, like water through fingers, Everything in its place, harmoniously it lingers. (Chorus) Time to time, and you'll see the (bridge) In our race against time, we often lose sight, But in the smallest details, we find our light. Let life flow, like water through fingers, Everything in its place, harmoniously it lingers. (Chorus) Time to time, and you'll see the world open wide, Every dream tucked away, ready to take flight. With trust and hope, through every storm and test, Time to time, life handles the rest. (Outro) So when the heart is heavy, and the road seems never-ending, Remember "time to time," it's life's promise, always pending. With every dawn, a day is born, every night brings a tomorrow, Time to time, through joys and sorrows. Time to time, through joys and sorrows.21:T6cc,

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22:T7f3,Verse 1: Upon the heathered fields of Moy, 'twas in the year sixteen forty-four, When clans did clash 'neath stormy sky, as blood and thunder rent the air. Royalist and Covenant bold, in fierce array they took their stand, With hearts of iron and weapons cold, they fought for king and sacred land. Chorus: Oh, the cries of Moy shall ne'er be still, For the blood of clans on that fateful hill, In the shadow of the Highland pine, Where the brave did fall, their spirits shine. Verse 2: From morn's first light to eventide, the battle raged with savage might, Broadsword gleamed and muskets roared, 'twas death that walked both day and night. For king and cause, for freedom's call, the warriors met with fearless stride, But ne'er again would some return, to hearth and kin, or bonnie bride. Chorus: Oh, the cries of Moy shall ne'er be still, For the blood of clans on that fateful hill, In the shadow of the Highland pine, Where the brave did fall, their spirits shine. Bridge: Over a thousand souls were claimed, by cold embrace of earth and stone, Their legacy, a tale of woe, in whispered winds, their fate is known. The glens did weep, the rivers mourned, as echoes of their valor died, Yet in the songs of ancient bards, their glory's fl

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Shooting Stars

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