Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend lives on from the on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche
The lake, it is said, never up her dead
When the skies of turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons
Than the Edmund weighed empty
[Former version:] That good and true was a bone to be chewed
[Latter version:] That good ship and crew was a bone to be
When the gales of November came

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

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

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

Does anyone know where the love of God
When the waves the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more behind her
They might have split up or they might have
They may have broke deep and water
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 ice-water
Old Michigan steams like a young man's
The islands and are for sportsmen
And below, Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all
the gales of November remembered

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