Gordon Lightfoot – The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald (Guitar)

    A                        Em
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

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Of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee"

                            Em
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead

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When the skies of November turn gloomy

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With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more

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Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty

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That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed

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When the "Gales of November" came early

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The ship was the pride of the American side

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Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin

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As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most

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With a crew and good captain well seasoned

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Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms

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When they left fully loaded for Cleveland

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And later that night when the ship's bell rang

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Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

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The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound

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And a wave broke over the railing

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And every man knew, as the captain did too

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T'was the witch of November come stealin'

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The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait

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When the Gales of November came slashin'

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When afternoon came it was freezin' rain

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In the face of a hurricane west wind

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When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck

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Sayin’, "Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya."

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At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in'

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He said "Fellas, it's been good t'know ya"

                            Em
The captain wired in he had water comin' in

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And the good ship and crew was in peril

    A                         Em
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight

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Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

                           Em
Does anyone know where the love of God goes

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When the waves turn the minutes to hours?

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The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay

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If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her

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They might have split up or they might have capsized;

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They may have broke deep and took water

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And all that remains is the faces and the names

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Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

                    Em
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings

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In the rooms of her ice-water mansion

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Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;

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The islands and bays are for sportsmen

    A                    Em
And farther below Lake Ontario

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Takes in what Lake Erie can send her

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And the iron boats go as the mariners all know

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with the Gales of November remembered

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In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed

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In the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."

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The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times

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For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald

    A                        Em
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

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Of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee"

   A                          Em
"Superior", they said, "never gives up her dead

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When the 'Gales of November' come early!"