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| The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald |
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| 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. |
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| With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more |
| Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty - |
| That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed |
| When the gales of November came early. |
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| 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 the captain well seasoned. |
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| Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms |
| When they left fully loaded for Cleveland. |
| And later that night when the ships bell rang, |
| Could it be the north wind they'd been feeling? |
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| The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound, |
| And a wave broke over the railing, |
| And every man knew, as the captain did, too, |
| 'Twas the Witch of November come stealing. |
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| The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait |
| When the gales of November came slashing. |
| When afternoon came, it was freezing rain |
| In the face of a hurricane west wind. |
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| When supper time came the old cook came on deck, |
| Saying "Fellows, it's too rough to feed ya." |
| At 7PM, a main hatchway caved in. |
| He said "Fellas, it's been good to know ya." |
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| The captain wired in he had water coming in |
| And the good ship and crew was in peril. |
| And later that night when her lights went out of sight |
| Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. |
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| 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 them. |
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| They might have split up or they might have capsized. |
| They may have broke deep and took water. |
| And all that remains are the faces and the names |
| Of the wives and the sons and the daughters. |
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| Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings |
| In the ruins of her ice water mansion. |
| Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams; |
| The islands and bays are for sportsmen. |
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| Farther below Lake Ontario |
| Takes in what Lake Erie can send her. |
| The iron boats go, as the mariners all know, |
| With the gales of November remembered. |
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| In a musty old hall in Detroit, they prayed |
| In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral. |
| The church bell chimed 'til it rang 29 times |
| For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald. |
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| The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down |
| Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee |
| Superior, they say, never gives up her dead |
| When the gales of November come early. |
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| - Gordon Lightfoot |
