Now 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 the 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 a 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

And later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feeling

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing

And every man knew as the captain did too
'Twas the witch in November come stealing

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November come slashin'

When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind

When suppertime came the old cook come on deck
Sayin' fellas it's too rough to feed ya

At seven p.m. 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 outta 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 15 more miles behind her

They might have split up or they might have capsized
They might 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 it 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 the dead
When the skies of November come early