| Yes, it always whispers to me
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| Of the days of long ago
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| When the settlers and the miners
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| Fought the crafty Navajo
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| How the cattle roamed the valley
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| Happy people worked the land
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| And now everything is covered
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| By the shifting, whispering sands
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| How the miner left his buckboards
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| Went to work his claims that day
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| And the burros broke their halters
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| When they thought he’d gone to stay
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| Wandered far in search of water
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| On to old sidewinder’s well
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| And there, their bones picked clean
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| By buzzards that were circling
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| When they fell
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| How they found the ancient miner
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| Lying dead upon the sand
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| After months they could but wonder
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| If he died by human hand
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| So they dug his grave and laid him
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| On his back and crossed his hands
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| And his secret still is hidden
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| By the shifting, whispering sands
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| This is what they whispered to me
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| Way out in the quiet desert air
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| Of the people and the cattle
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| And the miner lying there
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| If you want to learn their secret
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| Wander through this quiet land
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| And I’m sure you’ll hear the story
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| Of the shifting, whispering sands
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| Shifting, whispering sands |