There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
And long before the white man and long before the wheel
When the green dark forest was to silent to be real

But time has no beginnings and the history has no bounds
Yes to the verdant country the came from all around
They sailed upon her waterways and they walked the forest tall
And built the mines, the mills, and the factories for the good of us all

And when the young man's fancy had turned into the spring
The railroad men grew restless for to hear the hammer's ring
And their minds were overflowing with the visions of their day
With many fortune won and lost and many debt to pay

For they looked in the future and what did they see?
They saw an iron road running from the sea to the sea
Bringing the goods to a young growing land
All up from the seaboards and into their hands

Look away said they, across this mighty land
From the Eastern shore to the Western strand
Bring in the workers and bring up the rails
We gotta lay down the tracks and tear up the trails

Open the heart let the life blood flow
Gotta get on our way 'cause were moving to slow
Bring in the workers and bring up the rails
We gotta lay down the tracks and tear up the trails

Open the heart let the life blood flow
Gotta get on our way 'cause were moving to slow
Get on our way 'cause were moving to slow

Behind blue Rockies, the sun is declinin'
The stars they come stealin' at the close of the day
Across the wide prairie our loved ones lie sleeping
Beyond the dark ocean in a place far away

We are the navvies who work upon the railway
Swingin' our hammers in the bright blazin' sun
Livin' on stew and drinkin' bad whiskey
Bendin' our backs until the long days are done

We are the navvies who work upon the railway
Swingin' our hammers in the bright blazin' sun
Laying down track and buildin' the bridges
Bending our backs until the railroad is done

So over the mountains and over the plains
Into the muskeg and into the rain
Up the St. Lawerence on the way to Gaspe
Swingin' our hammers and drawin' our pay
Driving 'em in and tying 'em down
Away to the bunkhouse and into the town
A dollar a day and a place for my head
A drink to the livin', a toast to the dead

Oh the song of the future have been sung
Oh the battles have been won
On the mountain tops we stand
All the world at our command
We have opened up this soil
With our tear drops and our toil

For there was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
And the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
Long before the white man and long before the wheel
When the green dark forest was to silent to be real
And the green dark forest was to silent to be real
And many are the dead men... to silent to be real

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called '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 Seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, it's been good t'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 searches 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;
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 till 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!