Gordon Lightfoot — Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald (ver 3) Chords
(strum up on the first three chords)
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The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
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to the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
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The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
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When the skies of November turn gloomy
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With a load of iron ore —26,ooo tons more
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than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
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That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
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When the gales of November came early
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The ship was the pride of the American side
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coming back from some mill in Wisconson
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As the big freighters go it was bigger than most.
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With a crew and the captain well seasoned.
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Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
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When they left fully loaded for Cleveland,
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and later that night when the ships bell rang,
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could it be the North wind they'd been feeling.
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The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
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and a wave broke over the railing.
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Every man knew, as the captain did, too,
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T'was the witch of November came stealing.
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The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
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when the gales of November came slashing.
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When afternoon came it was freezing rain
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in the face if a hurricane west wind.
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When supper time came the old cook came on deck,
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Saying fellas it's to rough to feed ya.
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At 7PM a main hatchway caved in.
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He said fellas it's been good to know ya.
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The captain wired in, he had water coming in,
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and the good ship and crew were in peril.
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Later that night when his lights went out of sight
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came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
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Does anyone know where the love of God goes,
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When the words turn minutes to hours.
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The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
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If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.
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They might have split up and they might have capsized.
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They may have broke deep and took water.
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All that remains is the faces and the names
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of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
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Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
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in the ruins of her ice water mansion.
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Old michigan steams like a young man's dreams,
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the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
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And farther below Lake Ontario
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takes in what Lake Erie can send her
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and the iron boats go as the mariners all know
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with the gales of November remembered.
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In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
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in the Maritime Sailors Cathedral
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The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
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for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
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The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
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to the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.
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Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
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when the gales of november come early.