Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, gives up her dead
When the skies of turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons
Than the Fitzgerald weighed empty
version:] That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
[Latter version:] good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed
the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the side
Coming back some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than
With a crew and good captain well
Concluding terms with a couple of steel firms
When they fully loaded for Cleveland
Then later that night when the ship's bell
Could it be the north wind they'd been

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale
the wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the did too
'Twas the witch of come stealin'
The dawn came and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November slashin'
When afternoon it was freezing rain
In the of a hurricane west wind

When suppertime came, the old cook on deck
Saying, "Fellas, it's too rough to ya."
version:] At seven PM a main hatchway caved in
[Latter At seven PM it grew dark, it was then
He said, "Fellas, it's been good to ya."
The captain wired in he had water in
And the good ship and crew was in
And later that night when his lights out of sight
Came the of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Does anyone know where the of God goes
When the waves turn the to hours?
The searchers all say have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put more miles behind her
They might split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took
And all that remains is the faces and the
Of the wives and the sons and the

Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's
The islands and bays are for
And below, Lake Ontario
in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all
With the gales of November

[Former In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
[Latter version:] In a rustic old in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it twenty-nine times
For each man on the Fitzgerald
The legend on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never up her dead
When the gales of come early