From the recording RIPE
I lived in Victoria B.C. in 1983-84 and took part in the protests to protect Meare's Island from logging. I lost hope in the NDP then as Harcourt sided with short terms jobs versus the environment. This song was written then and rewritten a decade later. I truly believed then I would never have children. The lyrics speak for themselves.
© Roman Rhodes, 1993
1. Out West on that last frontier,
where tall blue mountains touch the sea,
white man makes another desert here
of greed and apathy.
2. One last stand of virgin forest,
a few last streams for spawning grounds,
one last source, one last hope of life,
:the sacred grove of Clayoquot Sound:.
(Chorus A): Ancient forests, ancient trees,
give us the air we need to breathe,
soil for crops and to drink, sweet waters,
our civilization's a gift of these.
3. So few issues are so clear cut:
there's development and then there's plunder.
Resources gone, recession digs a deeper rut;
so little forethought really makes me wonder.
4. I find it hard to cry about a few jobs.
A few years might as well been never.
If companies had selectively logged,
:forestry jobs could have lasted forever:.
(Chorus B): Tree of knowledge, tree of life,
what's the one original crime?
The clear cutting of paradise--
may they burn for all time.
(Chorus C): And I don't even believe in hell,
but some bastards should go down,
like Harcourt and MacMillan Bloedel
:for the cutting of Clayoquot Sound:.
5. I've no desire for children now;
there's too many troubles on my mind.
There's no past, no future for them anyhow,
we've left them barren slopes behind.
We've left them nothing behind.
(Repeat Chorus A and C, last line C repeat a third time).