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 are gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
The 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
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
Which they left fully loaded for Cleveland
The wind in the wire made a tattle-tale sound
As the waves broke over the railing
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
At seven PM, the old cook came on deck
Sayin' "fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
When the captain wired in he had water comin' in
He said "'fellas, it's been good to know ya"
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
She takes in what Lake Erie can send her
But the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
Now, in a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
At the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
And the church bell chimes till it rings twenty-nine times, once for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald