Windego, as sung By Jim Post

I live way up in the North they say
where a hunter may die all alone.
Indians have told of a legend so old,
of a death whose sound is a moan,

I fly where the forest meets the sky,
I race the Northern wind as I go,
My feet are on fire as I run and I cry,
My names is Windego,

Now where I run my feet leave a path,
They melt in the ice and the snow,
Hunters who see look above in the trees,
Win---de---go,

I fly where......

By lakes and trees in the pale moon light,
There's a sound thats so awesome and low,
Is it the wind or a cry in the night?
Win--de--go.

I fly where.....

I live way up in the North they say,
Where a hunter may die all alone,
Indians have told of a legend so old,
Of a death whose sound is moan.......

From Jim Post on an Old Town School of Folkmusic broadcast about three weeks after Art Thieme left the show.