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

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The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the

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big lake they call "Gitche Gumee"

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

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when the skies of November turn gloomy.

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

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than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.

                             Em
That big ship and true 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.

                                 Em
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most,

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with a crew and good captain well seasoned,

                             Em
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms

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when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.

                              Em
And later that night when the ships 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 tattletale sound,

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and a wave broke over the railing.

                           Em
And every man knew, as the Captain did too,

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'twas the witch of November come stealin'.

                           Em
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait,

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when the gales of November came slashin'.

                           Em
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 sayin'

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

                      Em
At seven PM. the main hatchway caved in, he said;

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"Fellas, it's been good t' know ya".

                                Em
And the Captain wired in he had water comin' in,

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and the good ship and crew was in peril.

                              Em
And later that night when his lights went outta sight,

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came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

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Does anyone know where the love of God goes

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when the waves turn the minutes to hours?

                                  Em
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay

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if they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.

                                 Em
They might have split up or they might have capsized,

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they may have broke deep and took water.

                            Em
And all that remains is the faces and the names

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of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

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Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings,

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in the rooms of her ice water mansion.

                           Em
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,

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The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

                         Em
And farther below Lake Ontario

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takes in what Lake Erie can send her.

                              Em
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.

                                    Em
The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times

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for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

                             Em
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down of the

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big lake they call "Gitche Gumee".

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

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when the gales of November come early!"