July Twenty Fourth, Nineteen Fifteen
The river was murky, The weather was seen

The steamer Eastland, firm on her bow,
loaded with coal, port side and sound

A captain, that's ***** and stout in his manner
stands on his bridge with an arrogant cantor

Mooring lines set, stern to the bow
Gangplanks are steady, awaiting a crowd

Employees of Western dressed to their nines,
a picnic awaits, everything's fine

Families with smiles and tickets in hand
looks up in wonder, the Eastland she stands

Boarding commences and loaded up full
Twenty Five Hundred, no more to call

Port side list, a lean to the river
Ballast is leveled, some felt the shiver

Worries amount to settling fears,
a starboard list and beckoning tears

Back to the port, no coming back
tipped on her side, everything's black

Panic in fever, screams are abound
echoes in motion, no silence no sound

The river's chaotic with bodies afloat
Kenosha stands ready and rescues the most

Eight forty four lost their lives
In the armory they lay and Chicago cries

The Eastland still rests in our hearts and our mind
Not a second or hour can turn back the time