"Winds of the Anasazi"
[Intro]
Winds of the Anasazi drift through and over the stones
Through silent homes of sandstone, carved and overgrown
The echo of their footfalls lingers there, among the ruins
With walls of baked clay, built high above a river confluence
[Verse 1]
They farmed the mesa’s tableland beneath the sacred mountain's sight
Planting corn, squash and beans, they foraged plants and hunted game
They gathered up what nature provided, waiting for when the time was right
They read the land like a sacred text, but left the land when the blight came
[Chorus – Layered Vocals]
The winds of the Anasazi still whisper through piñon pines
Whispering ancient stories in the silence they left behind
Where the snow-capped mountains rise and golden eagles glide
Their haunting spirits still remain upon every mesa's side
[Verse 2]
They built their homes in cliff overhangs and made scores of little jars
They built ladders made of cedar wood that reached up to every room
In fire-lit kivas they built underground, they sang their songs to the stars
The breath of their spirits rise up and echoes the silent tales of their doom
[Verse 3]
The children played in walled courtyards, beneath the eagle’s flight
Their laughter echoing through time, vague expressions in the sunlight
Mothers and daughters shaped pots from clay while fathers wove the reed
Together they all lived in nature's harmony, sustained for their every need
[Bridge]
The winds remember everything—the names, the songs, the prayers
It speaks in hushed and hallowed tones through the dry and dusty air
If you listen above the canyon rim, hold the breath within your chest
I swear you’ll feel their humble presence rising still, from centuries of rest
[Verse 4]
Now excited tourists walk these narrow paths where elders once trod
They speak in a hundred different tongues, but still feel something odd
Whispers heard in dark recesses, or the feel of a hand as a shadow passes near
Leaves you with the sense that those who lived here once may still be near
[Instrumental Outro]
