The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

the legend lives on from

the chippewa on down

of the big lake they call gitche gumee

the lake it is said

never gives up her dead

when the skies of november turn gloomy

with a load of iron ore

twenty si thousand tons more

than the edmund fitzgerald weighed empty

that good ship and true

was a bone to be chewed

when the gales of november came early

the ship was the pride

of the american side

coming back from some mill in wisconsin

as the big freighters go

it was bigger than most

with a crew and good

captain well seasoned

concluding some terms with

a couple of steel firms

when they left fully

loaded for cleveland

then later that night

when the ship's bell rang

could it be the north

wind they'd been feelin'

the wind in the wires

made a tattle tale sound

when the wave broke over the railing

and every man knew as

the captain did too

twas the witch of

november come stealin

the dawn came late and

the breakfast had to wait

when the gales of november came slashin

when afternoon came it was freezing rain

in the face of a hurricane west wind

when suppertime came the

old cook came on deck

sayin'fellas it's

too rough to feed ya

at seven pm a main hatchway caved in

he said fellas it's

been good to know ya

the captain wired in

he had water comin'in

and the good ship and crew was in peril

and later that night when

his lights went out of sight

came the wreck of the edmund fitzgerald

does anyone know where

the love of god goes

when the waves turn

the minutes to hours

the searchers all say they'd

have made whitefish bay

if they'd put fifteen

more miles behind her

they might have split up or

they might have capsized

they may have broke deep and took water

and all that remains is

the faces and the names

of the wives and the

sons and the daughters

lake huron rolls superior sings

in the rooms of her ice water mansion

old michigan steams like

a young man's dreams

the islands and bays are for sportsmen

and farther below lake ontario

takes in what lake erie can send her

and the iron boats go as

the mariners all know

with the gales of november remembered

in a musty old hall in

detroit they prayed

in the maritime sailors cathedral

the church bell chimed til

it rang twenty nine times

for each man on the edmund fitzgerald

the legend lives on from

the chippewa on down

of the big lake they call gitche gumee

superior they said

never gives up her dead

when the gales of november come early