The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald Chrom

Music & Lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot
Key of C Major Range: C4 – D5
Notations: none=blow -= draw *=button in

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The legend lives on
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from the Chip-pe-wa on down
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of the big lake they called
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“Git-che Gu-mee.”

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The lake, it is said,
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Ne-ver gives up her dead
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when the skies of No-vem-ber
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turn gloo-my.

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With a load of iron ore
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twenty-six thousand tons more
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than the Ed-mund Fitz-ger-ald
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weighed emp-ty,

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That good ship and true
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was a bone to be chewed
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when the “Gales of No-vem-ber”
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came early.

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The ship was the pride
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of the A-mer-i-can side
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Com-ing back from some mill
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in Wis-con-sin.

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As the big freighters go,
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it was big-ger than most
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with a crew and good captain
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well sea-soned,

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concluding some terms
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with a couple of steel firms
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when they left ful-ly loaded
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for Cleveland.

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And later that
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night when the ship’s bell rang,
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could it be the north wind
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they’d been feelin’?

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The wind in the
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wires made a tattle-tale sound
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and a wave broke ov-er
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the railing.

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And ev’ry man knew,
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as the cap-tain did too
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’twas the witch of No-vem-ber
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come stealin’.

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The dawn came late
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and the breakfast had to wait
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when the Gales of No-vem-ber
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came slashin’.

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When af-ter-noon came
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it was freezin’ rain
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in the face of a hur-ri-cane
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west wind.

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When suppertime came
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the old cook came on deck say-in’.
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“Fellas, it’s too rough
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t’feed ya.”

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At seven P. M.
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a main hatchway caved in;
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he said, “Fel-las, it’s bin good
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t’know ya!”

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The captain wired in
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he had wa-ter comin’ in
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and the good ship and crew was
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in per-il.

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And later that night
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when ‘is lights went outta sight
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came the wreck of the Ed-mund
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Fitzgerald.

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Does any one know
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where the love of God goes
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when the waves turn the minutes
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to hours?

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The searchers all say
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they’d have made Whitefish Bay
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if they’d put fifteen more miles
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behind ‘er.

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They might have split up
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or they might have capsized;
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they may have broke deep
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and took water.

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And all that remains
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is the faces and the names
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of the wives and the sons
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and the daughters.

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Lake Huron
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rolls, Su-per-i-or sings
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in the rooms of her
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ice-water mansion.

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Old Mi-chi-gan steams
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like a young man’s dreams;
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the is-lands and bays are for
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sportsmen.

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And farther be-low
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Lake On-ta-ri-o
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takes in what Lake Er-ie
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can send her,

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But the iron boats go
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as the mariners all know
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with the Gales of No-vem-ber
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Re-mem-bered.

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In a mus-ty old hall
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in De-tro-it they prayed,
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in the “Mar-i-time Sailors’
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Ca-the-dral.”

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The church bell chimed
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’til it rang twenty-nine times
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for each man on the
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Ed-mund Fitzgerald.

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The legend lives on
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From the Chip-pe-wa on down
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of the big lake they call
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“Git-che Gu-mee.”

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“Su-per-ior,” they said,
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“never gives up her dead
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when the gales of No-vem-ber
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come early!”

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3 -3 -3* -3* -3 3 -2 3 4
-3 -3 3* 3 -4 3 -2 3 1
4 4 -5 4 -3* 3 3 3
3 -3 -3* -3* -3 3 -2 3 4
-3 -3 3* 3 -4 3 -2 3 1(sustain)