About the song
Gordon Lightfoot’s “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a haunting ballad that has captured the imaginations of listeners for decades. Released in 1979 on his album “Dreamtime,” the song tells the tragic tale of a freighter that sank in Lake Superior during a fierce storm in November 1975. Lightfoot’s evocative lyrics and haunting melody have made this song a timeless classic, often referred to as the “Maritime Anthem of the Great Lakes.”
The song begins with a somber introduction, setting the stage for the impending tragedy. Lightfoot paints a vivid picture of the ship, the Edmund Fitzgerald, a vessel of immense size and power. He describes the ship’s crew, brave men facing the elements, and the storm that is brewing, a force of nature that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
As the song progresses, Lightfoot narrates the events of the fateful day. He describes the ship’s encounter with the storm, the increasing intensity of the wind and waves, and the crew’s desperate attempts to keep the ship afloat. Lightfoot’s lyrics are filled with imagery that evokes the raw power of the storm and the vulnerability of the ship and its crew.
The climax of the song comes with the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Lightfoot’s lyrics capture the suddenness and finality of the tragedy, as the ship disappears beneath the waves. The song ends with a haunting refrain, repeating the ship’s name and the date of its sinking, a somber reminder of the loss of life and the enduring power of nature.
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is more than just a song about a maritime disaster; it is a tribute to the courage and resilience of those who face the elements and a poignant reminder of the fragility of human life in the face of nature’s raw power. Lightfoot’s masterful storytelling and haunting melody have made this song a classic that continues to resonate with listeners of all ages.
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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 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
And later that night when the ship’s bell rang
Could it be the north wind they’d been feelin’?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
T’was 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
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin’
“Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya”
At 7 PM, 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 outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Does any one 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 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 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