About the song
Gordon Lightfoot, a Canadian folk icon, penned one of his most enduring and haunting ballads, “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” in 1976. This song, a maritime tragedy set against the backdrop of Lake Superior’s tempestuous waters, has resonated with audiences worldwide for decades.
The Edmund Fitzgerald was a massive Great Lakes freighter that sank in a violent storm on November 10, 1975, claiming the lives of all 29 crew members. Lightfoot’s song paints a vivid picture of the ship’s final moments, capturing the raw power of nature and the human cost of such a disaster.
With his distinctive baritone and masterful guitar playing, Lightfoot delivers a poignant narrative that blends historical facts with poetic imagery. The song’s opening lines, “Lake Superior, so treacherous, a watery grave for the boldest of men,” immediately set the stage for the impending tragedy. As the lyrics unfold, we hear about the ship’s departure from Duluth, Minnesota, and its encounter with a fierce storm.
Lightfoot’s descriptive language brings the scene to life, painting a picture of the ship battling against the elements: “The wind whipped up a fury, the waves crashed o’er the deck.” The song also highlights the crew’s desperate attempts to save the ship, but ultimately, they were no match for the relentless storm.
The chorus, “Does anyone stand, does anyone know, where the legend of the Edmund Fitzgerald lies?” serves as a haunting reminder of the ship’s fate and the unanswered questions surrounding its sinking. The song’s conclusion is both tragic and evocative, leaving listeners with a sense of awe and respect for the power of nature and the human spirit.
“Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is more than just a sea shanty; it’s a timeless tale of courage, loss, and the enduring mystery of the Great Lakes. Lightfoot’s masterful storytelling and haunting melody have ensured that this song will continue to captivate audiences for generations to come.
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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
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