| 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 burrows, 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
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| The wind was quiet the sand did not lie still.
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| I seemed to be surrounded by a mystery so heavy
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| And oppressive 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
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| 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
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| So many years ago.
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| (When the day is oddly quiet
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| And the breeze seems not to blow
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| One would think the sand was resting
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| But you’ll find this is not so.
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| It is whisp’ring softly whisp’ring
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| As it slowly moves along
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| And for those who stop and listen
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| It will sing this mournful song.
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| Of sidewinders and the horntoads
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| Of the Thorny Chaparral
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| In the sunny days and moonlight nights
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| The coyote’s lonely yell.
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| How the stars seem you could touch them
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| As you lay and gaze on high
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| At the Heavens where we’re hoping
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| We’ll be going when we die.). |