You all probably remember many of his great compositions.
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 twenty-six tons more than the
Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
The good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed when
the gales of November came early
