tate mcrae😍😍

Tate McRae - couldn't care less [Unreleased]

Tate McRae - Not Talking (Unreleased Song)

Seven Billion - Tate McRae

Not Talking - Tate McRae

COULDN’T CARE LESS - Tate Mcrae (snippet) (LQ)

The Scientist - Tate McRae

The scientist by Tate McRae (live at MSG)

Tate McRae performing "Had Some Help" Cover

Pretty isn’t pretty cover - Tate Mcrae

Birds of a Feather - Tate McRae (Cover - Live)

Special - Sza (Tate McRae Cover)

Tate Mcrae - Tragic(Unreleased)

Tate McRae - Don’t Make Me Admit (SC2W Outtake)

No noise can drown the sight I see

dreamscape featherfall (Remix) (Remix) (6).mp3

In the little parlor by the waning light,
I touch those strings her fingers used each night,
Her melody flows in the embers’ glow,
Whispering rooms where the wild flowers grow.
The chair sits still where her laughter died,
And the photograph fades on the mantle side,
But I lift the dulcimer, breath held and slow,
And play her song for the home I used to know.

Dust on the doorstep, wind through the panes,
I hear her voice in the falling rain.

Play, mother’s dulcimer, in memory’s key,
Let your notes carry the home to me,
Though the walls are gone, though the hearth is cold,
Her lullaby lives in the hand I hold.
In this quiet chamber I find her there,
In every minor chord, in the silent air.

She taught me slowly, under candle’s flame,
How to call the night by its old name,
In the valley’s shadow, the mountains know,
The song we shared by the pines’ low glow.
Now I wander lonely where the doorway stood,
The gate has rusted, the roses in wood,
Still I sit by the window, dusk at my side,
And play her tune for the home that died.

Dust on the doorstep, wind through the panes,
I hear her voice in the falling rain.

Play, mother’s dulcimer, in memory’s key,
Let your notes carry the home to me,
Though the walls are gone, though the hearth is cold,
Her lullaby lives in the hand I hold.
In this quiet chamber I find her there,
In every minor chord, in the silent air.

And if the morning finds me all alone,
I’ll still hear her voice in every tone,
In every chord the past returns,
In every silence her memory burns.

Play, mother’s dulcimer, in memory’s key,
Let your notes carry the home to me,
Though the walls are gone, though the hearth is cold,
Her lullaby lives in the hand I hold.
In this quiet chamber I find her there,
In every minor chord, in the silent air.

Play, mother’s dulcimer

Birds of a Feather - Tate McRae (Cover - Live)

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