The year was 1876, in a very cold and hungry land Young Nils left Sweden's stony shore, a ticket in his hand Barely a coin and nothing more and the clothes he wore For him there where a farmhand's life from dusk till morn A cousin's farm in Minnesota waiting, honest labor was the plan To send home a shilling, be a decent, hard working man Landed in the springtime, and the air was sharp and bright Nils heard the wild promising rumors that very first night They spoke of Deadwood, of riches deep and vast A dream of easy money that could surely last "Gold in the Black Hills, boy, don't you hear the call?" And Nils future life as a farmhand suddenly felt small He made his choice, the reckless call To trade the plow for gold he stand tall A golden gleam to rise above the low Instead of the harvest, he chose the glow A fool's ambition, a desperate game Now the prairie wind whispers his name He dug through the gravel, the sweat would sting his face When Nils found nothing but granite in that promised place He met a man, a seasoned face, with stories smooth as oil Said, "Help me out, and share the trace, of what you find from toil" But he just took his last dollar, the watch was his fathers gift He sold him maps, he told him lies, and his last coin to shift The dust claim his weary bones, under this foreign sky He heard the wild wind's wicked tones, and he heard them lie ”I tried my luck, I took the chance, I gambled and I lost” ”I broke the farmhands dreary life, and paid the final cost” The Swedish boy is sleeping deep, in Dakota's frozen ground A life he chose, he failed to keep, and never turned around He made his choice, the reckless call To trade the plow for gold he stand tall A golden gleam to rise above the low Instead of the harvest, he chose the glow. A fool's ambition, a desperate game Now the prairie wind whispers his name But still... A smile upon his face ”I dared to dream beyond the plow” ”I tried my luck, and rests here now” He made his choice, the reckless call To trade the plow for gold he stand tall A golden gleam to rise above the low Instead of the harvest, he chose the glow. A fool's ambition, a desperate game Now the prairie wind whispers his name The prairie wind whispers his name...
