| I discovered the valley of the shifting whispering sands
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| While prospecting for gold in one of our western states
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| I saw the silent windmills the crumbling water tanks
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| The bones of cattle and burroughs picked clean by buzzards
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| Bleached by the desert sun
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| I stumbled over a crumbling buckboard nearly covered by the sands
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| And stopping to rest I heard a tinkling whispering sound
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| And suddenly realised that even though the wind was quiet the sand did not lie
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| still
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| I seemed to be surrounded by a mystery so heavy and oppressive
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| I could scarcely breath
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| For days and weeks I wandered aimlessly in this valley
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| Seeking answers to the many questions that raced through my fevered mind
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| Where was everyone why the white bones the dry wells
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| The barren valley where people must have lived and died
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| Finally I could go no farther my food and water gone
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| I sat down and buried my face in my hands and resting thus
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| I learnt the secret of the shifting whispering sands
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| How I escaped from the valley I do not know
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| But now to pay my final debt for being spared
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| I must tell you what I learned out there on the desert so many years ago
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| (When the day is oddly quiet and the breeze seems not to blow
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| One would think the sand was resting but you’ll find this is not so
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| It is whisp’ring softly whisp’ring as it slowly moves along
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| And for those who stop and listen it will sing this mournful song
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| Of sidewinders and the horntoes of the Thorny Chaparral
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| In the sunny days and moonlight nights the coyote’s lonely yell
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| How the stars seem you could touch them as you lay and gaze on high
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| At the Heavens where we’re hoping we’ll be going when we die)
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| Yes it always whispers to me of the days of long ago
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| When the settlers and the miners fought the crafty Navaho
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| How the cattle roamed the valley happy people worked the land
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| And now everything is covered by the shifting whispering sands
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| How the miner left his buckboard went to work his claim that day
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| And the burroughs broke their halters when they thought he’d gone to stay
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| Wandered far in search of water on to Old Sidewinder’s Well
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| And there their bones picked clean by buzzards that were circling when they fell
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| (How they found the aged miner lying dead upon the sand
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| After months they could but wonder if he died by human hand
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| So they dug his grave and laid him on his back and crossed his hands
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| And his secret still is hidden by the shifting whispering sands)
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| This is what they whispered to me on the quiet desert air
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| Of the people, and the cattle and the miner lying there
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| If you want to learn their secret wander through this quiet land
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| And I’m sure you’ll hear the story of the shifting, whispering sands
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| (Of the shifting whispering sands) |