| I discovered the Valley of the Shifting, Whispering Sands
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| While prospecting in a western state
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| I saw the silent windmills, the crumbling water tanks
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| The bones of the cattle picked clean by buzzards
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| Bleached by the desert sun
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| I stumbled over a crumbling buck board
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| Nearly covered by the sand
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| And stopping to rest I heard a tinkling, whispering sound
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| And suddenly realized that even though the wind was quiet
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| The sand did not lie still
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| I seemed to be surrounded be a mystery
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| So heavy and apperceive I could scarcely breath
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| For weeks I wondered aimlessly in the valley
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| Seeking answers to the many questions that raced through my 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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| I sat down and buried my face in my hands
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| And resting I learned the secret of the Shifting, Whispering Sands
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| How I managed to escape from the valley I don’t know
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| But now to pay my debt for being saved
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| I must tell you what I learned out 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 sun is resting
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| But you’ll find this is not so
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| It is whispering softly whispering
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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 horn toads
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| On the thorny chaparral
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| In the sunny days and moonlight lights
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| The lonely coyotes yell
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| How the stars seem they can touch you
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| As you lay and gaze on high
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| At the heavens where your hoping
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| You’ll be going when you die |