Tonalité : D major
Intro 1
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Verse 1
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The legend
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lives on from the Chippewa
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down of the big lake they call Kitchihoonee. Like it is said,
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never gives a bird dead
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When the skies of Novem
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ber turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore,
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twenty -six thousand tonne
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More than the Edmund Fitzgerald
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weighed his team
A good ship and true was a
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bond to be chewed
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When the gale of November came early
The ship was the pride of the
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American side,
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coming back from some military constant.
As big freighters go,
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it was big ger than most,
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with a crew and a captain
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while seasoned.
Concluding some turns
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with a couple of steel firms
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when they left fully loaded
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from Cleveland.
And late that night
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when the ship bell rang
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Could it be the north wind they was
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feelin'?
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The wind in the wire made
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a tattle -tale sound
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As the wave broke over the railing
And every man knew,
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as the cap tain did too,
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was the witch of Novem
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ber come stealin'.
The dawn came late,
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and the breakfast had to wait,
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as the gale of November came
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slashing through.
When afternoon came,
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it was freezing rain,
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in the face of a hurricane west wind.
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When suppertime came,
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the old cook came on deck
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Saying, fellas, it's the year of the Fiji
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At seven p .m. the main hatch we gated
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He said, fellas,
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it's been good to know ya.
The captain wired in,
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they had wa ter comin' in,
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And the good shippin'
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crew was in peril.
Later that night,
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when it's light went out of sight,
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Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzger
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ald.
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Does anyone know where the
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love of God don't
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When the waves turned the
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minutes to hours
Searchers all say they'd have
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made Whitefish Bay
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Had they put fifteen
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more miles behind her
Well, they might have split up
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or they might have capsized
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They might have broke deep into the water
But all that remains are the
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faces and names
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of the wives and a son and a
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daughter.
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Lake Huron rolls, Lake Superior sings in
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the rooms of her ice water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a
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young man's dream,
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the islands and bays are her
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sportsmen.
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Farther below Lake Ontario
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She aches in what Lake Erie considered
And the iron boats go,
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as the mariners all know
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When the gales of November
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remember
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In a musty old hall in Detroit they all pray
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In the Maritime Sailor's Cathedral
The church bell chimed
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till it rang twenty -nine times
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For each man on the edge of his
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jarrow
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And that legend lives on
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from the Chippewa on down
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Of the big lake they call Itchewoobie
Superior they said,
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never gives up her debt
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When the gale of November calmer leaps
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You
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