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The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald lyrics

Enter the individual lyrics to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot
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Yannaa
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Last updated: March 12, 2026
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First submittedMarch 12, 2026
Times taken10
Average score80.1%
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Lyrics
The
legend
lives
on
from
the
Chippewa
on
down
Of
the
big
lake
they
call
'Gitche
Gumee'
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
of
November
Lyrics
came
early
The
ship
was
the
pride
of
the
American
side
Coming
back
from
some
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
Then
later
that
night
when
the
ship's
bell
rang
could
it
be
the
north
Lyrics
wind
they'd
been
feelin'?
The
wind
in
the
wires
made
a
tattle-tale
sound
When
the
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
freezing
rain
In
the
face
of
a
hurricane
Lyrics
west
wind
When
suppertime
came,
the
old
cook
came
on
deck
Sayin',
'Fellas,
it's
too
rough
to
feed
ya"
At
7 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
out
of
sight
Came
Lyrics
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
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
Lyrics
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
Lyrics
of
November
remembered
In
a
musty
old
hall
in
Detroit
they
prayed
In
the
Maritime
Sailors'
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,
'Gitche
Gumee'
Superior,
they
said,
never
gives
up
her
dead
When
the
gales
of
November
come
early
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