Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

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

The was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger most
a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel
they left fully loaded for Cleveland
Then that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale
When the 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 came
When came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane west

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

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

Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water
Old Michigan steams a young man's dreams
The islands and are for sportsmen
And farther below, Ontario
Takes in what Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the all know
With the gales of November

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