On a trading path, through the Carolinas   Used by Indians who braved the wind and rain   They settled down beside the raging waters   And they worked the land until the white men came and formed the counties   And they took away their land and made the boundaries   Governed with a heavy hand and you can   Almost hear the song of that old Indian   Longing for his home along the waters edge    Climbing mountains to escape the laws of white men   Walking softly in the rain and talking to the wind.      They were friendly and they rode on painted horses   Fearing no one, not harming anything   They were trusting when the pilgrims came to live here   They died by the hands of the men    Who formed the counties   And they took away their land   And made the boundaries   Governed with a heavy hand and you can.      Almost hear that sad song of that old Indian   Crying for his home along the waters edge   Climbing mountains to escape the laws of white men   Walking softly in the rain... and talking to the wind.      They were trusting when they taught us how to live here   Then they scattered to the wind   Leaving only tears behind them   And an old forgotten art   And all their memories   Dying with a broken heart.      Almost hear the song of that old Indian   Longing for his home   Along the waters edge   Climbing mountains to escape the laws of white men   Walking softly in the rain... and talking to the wind...