No night is so dark as the night of your death.
A truth every mariner knows.
They were caught up in a storm
and it could not be long
as the brave ship and crew took hard blows..
They stayed at their stations, for hours they fought,
their iron ore freighter to save.
The waves crested high and the wind whipped on by
whispering of a watery grave.
The religious ones prayed to the god of the storm
in hopes that this cup too might pass.
The heathens among them beheld only gray sky
and they reckoned this day was their last.
The old girl gave a scream as lake water poured in
Her pumps were no match for the waves.
Her lights winked, then died, said observers on shore
And she plunged to a watery grave.
In church families gathered to weep for their men,
Who had set sail in spite of the peril.
The Sun never reaches Superior’s depths;
Never reaches the Edmund Fitzgerald.