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The Wreck of the Mark Fitzgerald 1 by Kurtis

SongGPT
The Wreck of the Mark Fitzgerald 1 by Kurtis - folk,male vocals music cover art

The Wreck of the Mark Fitzgerald 1

folk,male vocals

0:003:45
Lyrics
Description
(Verse 1)
The legend lives from the plant crews on down,
Of the Town Gas Plant fire they all talk about in town.
The heating lines fed by a medium unseen,
That silently burned through the pipes in between.
(Verse 2)
With a load running hot, twenty-six thousand strong,
Fragile was the flow but steady all along.
The plant, a proud giant on the company side,
With seasoned crew and leaders who’d long been their guide.
(Chorus)
Oh, the flames of November came early that night,
Stealing the calm, turning day into fright.
The fire raged wild where the lines once lay,
And the Mark Fitzgerald’s crew could not run away.
(Verse 3)
Concluding terms with the firms big and vast,
They fired up the heaters, loaded full to the last.
Then alarms rang loud, a tattle-tale sound,
As the blaze broke across the main railing ground.
(Verse 4)
The dawn came late, the breakfast delayed,
Smoke and flame met the west wind’s sharp blade.
The old cook called out, "Fellas, it’s too rough to feed,"
Seven p.m. came, and a main header gave in indeed.
(Bridge)
The boss wired in, fire creeping fast,
The crew faced peril, memories to last.
Lights flickered out, darkness claimed the night,
And so came the wreck of the Mark Fitzgerald’s fight.
(Chorus)
Oh, the flames of November came early that night,
Stealing the calm, turning day into fright.
The fire raged wild where the lines once lay,
And the Mark Fitzgerald’s crew could not run away.
(Verse 5)
Does anyone know where the safety plans go,
When minutes stretch hours in the fire’s cruel glow?
Searchers would say if caught fifteen minutes sooner,
The wreck might have been less tragic, less of a mourn-er.
(Verse 6)
All that remains are the faces and names,
Of wives, sons, daughters, forever in flames.
Town Gas Plant rolls, the flare stack still glows,
A silent reminder where the firewater flows.
(Outro)
In the musty hall, the bells tolled twenty-nine,
For every brave soul, every lost line.
The legend lives on, a solemn refrain,
Of the Mark Fitzgerald’s fire, and the lives lost in its flame.
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