Ever since the days of old,
|
Men would search for wealth untold.
|
They'd dig for silver and for gold,
|
And leave the empty holes.
|
And way down south in the Everglades,
|
Where the black water rolls and the saw grass sways.
|
The eagles fly and the otters play,
|
In the land of the Seminole.
|
|
So blow, blow Seminole wind,
|
Blow like you're never gonna blow again.
|
I'm calling to you like a long lost friend,
|
But I know who you are.
|
And blow, blow from the Okeechobee,
|
All the way up to Micanopy.
|
Blow across the home of the Seminole,
|
The alligators and the gar.
|
|
Progress came and took its toll,
|
And in the name of flood control,
|
They made their plans and they drained the land,
|
Now the glades are going dry.
|
And the last time I walked in the swamp,
|
I sat upon a Cypress stump,
|
I listened close and I heard the ghost,
|
Of Osceola cry.
|
|
So blow, blow Seminole wind,
|
Blow like you're never gonna blow again.
|
I'm calling to you like a long lost friend
|
But I know who you are.
|
And blow, blow from the Okeechobee,
|
All the way up to Micanopy.
|
Blow across the home of the Seminole,
|
The alligators and the gar.
|
|
Instrumental close.
|
|
-----------------
|
Seminole Wind
|
John Anderson |