On A Trading Path, Through The Carolinas
Used By Indians Who Braved The Wind & 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