The Weck of the Edmund Fitzgerald: Gordon Lightfoot (Pt.2)

When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin'

Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya

At seven pm a main hatchway caved in, he said

Fellas, it's been good t'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 outta sight

Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

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Does any one know where the love of God goes

When the waves turn the minutes to hours?

The searches 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 and the names

Of the wives and the sons and the daughters

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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 knowWith the gales of November remembered

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In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed

In the maritime sailors' cathedral

The church bell chimed till 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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