v.1
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitchie-Goomie
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 true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales in November came early

v.2
The ship was the pride of the American side
Comin' back from some mill in Wisconsin
As big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain, well seasoned

Concluding some turns with a couple of steel firms
When she 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'?

v.3
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
As a wave broke over the railin'
And every man knew, as the Captain did too
'Twas 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

v.4
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck
Sayin "fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
At seven PM the main hatchway caved in
He said "Fellas, it's been good to know ya!"

The Captain wired in he had water comin' in
As the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night as the lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Inst. Brk.

v.5
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 Whitfish 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

v.6
Lake Huron rolls, Lake Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansions
An Michigan seems 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

Instr. Brk.

v.7
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailor's Cathedral
The church bell 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 Gitchie-Goomie
Superior they said never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early