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Yes they always whisper to me of the days of long ago |
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When the settlers and the miner fought the crafty Navajo |
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How the cattle roamed the valley happy people worked the land |
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Now everything is covered by the shifting whispering sands |
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(A miner left his buckboard went to work his claim that day) |
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And the burrows broke their halters when they thought he'd gone to stay |
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How they found that ancient miner lying dead upon the sands |
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And for months they could but wonder did he die by human hands |
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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 covered by the shifting whispering sands |
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(And his secret still is hidden by the shifting whispering sands) |
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This is what they always whisper to me out on the quiet desert air |
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Of the people and the cattle and that miner lying there |
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So if you want to learn the 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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(And I'm sure you'll hear the story of the shifting whispering sands) |
