About the song
Gordon Lightfoot, a Canadian folk singer and songwriter, penned “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” as a haunting and evocative tribute to the tragic sinking of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald in Lake Superior in 1975. This powerful ballad, released in 1976, became a hit single and a defining song for Lightfoot’s career.
With his distinctive voice and introspective lyrics, Lightfoot paints a vivid picture of the storm that led to the ship’s sinking. The song delves into the themes of courage, resilience, and the enduring power of the human spirit. Through Lightfoot’s emotive vocals and evocative imagery, listeners are invited to reflect on the tragedy and its lasting impact.
The opening lines, “Lies the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, lake Superior, some fifty leagues away,” immediately establish the song’s subject and set a somber tone. Lightfoot goes on to describe the storm’s ferocity and the ship’s desperate struggle to survive. The lyrics evoke a sense of awe and respect for the crew’s bravery, while also highlighting the power and unpredictability of nature.
Throughout the song, Lightfoot uses vivid imagery and relatable anecdotes to illustrate the tragedy. He references the “white squalls” that swept across the lake and the “ship that sailed away.” The lyrics convey a sense of loss and sadness, while also serving as a reminder of the dangers of the sea.
“Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is more than just a tragic ballad; it is a testament to the human spirit and the enduring power of storytelling. Lightfoot’s heartfelt lyrics and soulful performance resonate with listeners of all ages, reminding us of the importance of courage, resilience, and the respect for nature. This timeless classic continues to touch the hearts of audiences worldwide, serving as a reminder of the dangers and beauty of the natural world.
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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