In the heart of Newfoundland's lore,
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Born in a time of change and decline,
Amidst the woods and waters' sublime,
Shanawdithit, with eyes so bright,
Bore witness to her people's plight.
Her tribe once thrived on fish and game,
But strangers came, and nothing stayed the same,
With each encroaching, foreign face,
The Beothuk lost their sacred space.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
She lived through hardship, fear, and pain,
Watched her kin by illness slain,
Yet she held on to history's thread,
Preserving tales of those now dead.
Captured by the ones who came,
She shared her people's name,
Through drawings made and words conveyed,
Their culture, hopes, and dreams displayed.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In St. John's town, she drew and told,
The ways of life, the brave and bold,
Her heart so strong, though body weak,
Through her, the Beothuk speak.
A voice for those who went before,
Their songs and stories, forevermore,
In her final breath, she gave a plea,
To remember and to see.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
Though the Beothuk walk no more,
Their legacy is in the lore,
Through Shanawdithit's tender care,
Their spirit lingers everywhere.
We honor her, the last who knew,
The ancient ways, the sky so blue,
In her name, we find the light,
To keep their memory burning bright.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In the heart of Newfoundland's lore,
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Eh I By - The Last Beothuk Lyrics
Eh I By - The Last Beothuk Lyrics
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In the heart of Newfoundland's lore,
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Born in a time of change and decline,
Amidst the woods and waters' sublime,
Shanawdithit, with eyes so bright,
Bore witness to her people's plight.
Her tribe once thrived on fish and game,
But strangers came, and nothing stayed the same,
With each encroaching, foreign face,
The Beothuk lost their sacred space.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
She lived through hardship, fear, and pain,
Watched her kin by illness slain,
Yet she held on to history's thread,
Preserving tales of those now dead.
Captured by the ones who came,
She shared her people's name,
Through drawings made and words conveyed,
Their culture, hopes, and dreams displayed.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In St. John's town, she drew and told,
The ways of life, the brave and bold,
Her heart so strong, though body weak,
Through her, the Beothuk speak.
A voice for those who went before,
Their songs and stories, forevermore,
In her final breath, she gave a plea,
To remember and to see.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
Though the Beothuk walk no more,
Their legacy is in the lore,
Through Shanawdithit's tender care,
Their spirit lingers everywhere.
We honor her, the last who knew,
The ancient ways, the sky so blue,
In her name, we find the light,
To keep their memory burning bright.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In the heart of Newfoundland's lore,
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Born in a time of change and decline,
Amidst the woods and waters' sublime,
Shanawdithit, with eyes so bright,
Bore witness to her people's plight.
Her tribe once thrived on fish and game,
But strangers came, and nothing stayed the same,
With each encroaching, foreign face,
The Beothuk lost their sacred space.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
She lived through hardship, fear, and pain,
Watched her kin by illness slain,
Yet she held on to history's thread,
Preserving tales of those now dead.
Captured by the ones who came,
She shared her people's name,
Through drawings made and words conveyed,
Their culture, hopes, and dreams displayed.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In St. John's town, she drew and told,
The ways of life, the brave and bold,
Her heart so strong, though body weak,
Through her, the Beothuk speak.
A voice for those who went before,
Their songs and stories, forevermore,
In her final breath, she gave a plea,
To remember and to see.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
Though the Beothuk walk no more,
Their legacy is in the lore,
Through Shanawdithit's tender care,
Their spirit lingers everywhere.
We honor her, the last who knew,
The ancient ways, the sky so blue,
In her name, we find the light,
To keep their memory burning bright.
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk,
With stories etched by her luck,
A symbol of a world now gone,
Her memory, we carry on.
In the heart of Newfoundland's lore,
Lies a tale of sorrow and more,
A story of a fading light,
Shanawdithit, the last Beothuk's fight.
Writer: Benjamin Sturge
Copyright: Lyrics © Too Lost LLC
Copyright: Lyrics © Too Lost LLC