Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald

Chords used:     B     F#m     A     E  
               
Intro:  
   B            F#m           A        E   B    A             E   B  
  
  
                  B                            F#m  
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down  
       A             E              B   
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."  
                            F#m   
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead  
         A        E             B  
when the skies of November turn gloomy.  
                                   F#m   
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more  
         A      E                  B  
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,  
                              F#m  
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed  
          A        E              B  
when the "Gales of November" came early.   
  
    B                         F#m    
The ship was the pride of the American side  
       A              E       B  
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.  
                                 F#m 
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most  
       A             E            B  
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,  
                             F#m  
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms  
          A          E          B  
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.  
                              F#m   
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,  
         A            E                B  
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?  
  
  
                             F#m
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound  
      A          E        B       
and a wave broke over the railing.  
                           F#m  
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too  
          A        E             B   
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.  
                           F#m  
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait  
         A        E             B  
when the Gales of November came slashin'.  
                           F#m  
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain  
       A         E         B  
in the face of a hurricane west wind.  
  
                             F#m      
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.  
 A            E           B  
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."  
                     F#m  
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,  
 A            E          B  
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"  
                            F#m  
The captain wired in he had water comin' in  
        A             E           B  
and the good ship and crew was in peril.  
                              F#m  
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight  
         A            E          B  
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.  
  
                             
                            F#m  
Does any one know where the love of God goes  
         A              E          B  
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?  
                                  F#m  
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay  
          A           E            B  
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.  
                                 F#m  
They might have split up or they might have capsized;  
     A              E             B    
they may have broke deep and took water.  
                            F#m  
And all that remains is the faces and the names  
       A             E            B  
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.  
  
                    F#m   
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings  
       A            E         B  
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.  
                           F#m  
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;  
    A           E            B  
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.  
                       F#m   
And farther below Lake Ontario  
      A            E        B  
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,  
                             F#m  
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know  
         A          E        B  
with the Gales of November remembered.  
  
                      F#m  
           In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,  
        A        E        B  
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."  
                                    F#m  
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times  
         
  A          E          B  
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.  
    B                        F#m  
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down  
       A             E            B  
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."  
                              F#m  
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead  
         A          E           B  
when the gales of November come early!"