Heh. You guys are making it too easy.
I mean....
"The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot
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 ore - 26,000 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 Wisconson
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most
With a crew and the 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 ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.
The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the witch of November come stealing.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind
When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.
The Captain wired in he had water coming in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the words turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They 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 ruins 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, 'til it rang 29 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 say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.
© 1976 Moose Music, Inc.
Or, if you want depressing on a more personal scale, pretty much anything from the Richard & Linda Thompson album
Shoot Out the Lights is sure to bring you down, too. Of course, when you have a gifted singer/sonwriter team going through a divorce while they record an album together, what do you expect?
"Did She Jump, Or Was She Pushed?"
She was there one minute and then she was gone the next
Lying in a pool of herself with a twisted neck
Oh she fell from the roof to the ground
There was glass lying all around
She was broken in a hundred pieces
When her body was found
She used to live life, she used to live life with a vengeance
And the chosen would dance, the chosen would dance in attendance
She crossed a lot of people
Some she called friends
She thought she'd live forever
But forever alwasy ends
Did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
Oh she used to have style, she used to have style and she used it
And they say it turned bad when the truth came `round and she refused it
They found some fingerprints
Right around her throat
They didn't find no killer
And they didn't find no note
Did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
Oh did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
Did she jump or was she pushed
