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  Hartsville The picture was one of strange irony. Two Newfies, driven from their own province by the rape and collapse of the cod fishery, clear cutting acres of Island forest with chainsaws and a half-ton truck. Just down the road in the beautiful little Hartsville valley. That was six years ago. Now the bigger logging trucks seem to be everywhere, and slowly but surely our Island forests are disappearing. This is an angry song about human greed and arrogance. Lyrics Woodsman, woodsman spare that tree Hartsville is dying The north wind has nowhere to sleep And all the birds are flying From the road I can hear the sound Of young timber falling down Woodsman, woodsman spare that tree Hartsville is dying Woodsman, woodsman count the rings Hartsville is listening The native soul that still lives here Will curse your lack of wisdom How many seasons will it be Before the shadows can be seen Woodsman, woodsman spare that tree Hartsville is listening Chorus: When the immigrant families came And settled on the low road They cut down only what they could use Now the trucks line up and haul it away And leave it looking like the face of the moon Hartsville Repeat First Verse Repeat Chorus End Players Unrecorded Copyright Wild Garden Music (SOCAN) |