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 six 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 the Captain
well seasoned
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
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
T'was the witch of November
come stealing
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
When supper time came
the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows 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 coming 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 words 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 ruins 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 say
never gives up her dead
When the gales
of November come early