Lyrics:

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they called '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 crew 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 steel firms

When they left fully loaded for Cleveland

And 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 a wave broke over the railing

And every man knew, as the captain did too

T'was 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 freezin' rain

In the face of a hurricane west wind



When supper time 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 t'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 outta sight

Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald



Does any one know where the love of God goes

When the waves turn the minutes to hours?

The searches 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

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 till 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