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The game is all gone from the Witless Bay Barrens,
Deep into the Avalon wilderness zone;
With machines men have chased the moose and the partridge,
And etched their trails deep where no trail was known.
I remember my father took me there fishing,
We'd visit old Frank who lived there alone;
And we'd hike for hours following a footpath,
Following Frank when there was none.
I can still hear the geese call in the morning,
And see the sun coming up over a marsh;
We'd boil the kettle never complaining,
'Cause summers were short and winters were harsh.
Oh, to hear the lone call of the loon in the evening,
Through Frank's cabin window come on a night breeze;
Or to hear the birch crackle in the old iron pot belly,
In the morning with frost on the ground and the trees.
Now things sure have changed, I've come back years later,
They're building a new road of asphalt and stone;
They're opening the barrens to more and more people,
Why can't they leave Mother Nature alone?
The game is all gone from the Witless Bay Barrens,
Deep into the Avalon wilderness zone;
With machines men have chased the moose and the partridge,
And etched their trails deep where no trail was known.
Recorded by Paul Pearcey (Paul Pearcey: Up Close, trk#2, 2000)
