Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never up her dead
When the skies of November gloomy
With a load of ore twenty-six thousand 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 came early

The ship was the pride of the side
Coming back some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger most
With a and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some with a couple of steel firms
When they fully loaded for Cleveland
Then later 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 wave broke over the
And every man knew, as the did too
'Twas the witch of November come
The dawn came and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of came slashin'
When came it was freezing rain
In the face of a west wind

suppertime 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 PM it grew dark, it was then
He said, "Fellas, it's been good to ya."
The captain wired in he had comin' in
And the good ship and was in peril
And later that night when his lights out of sight
the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

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

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

[Former version:] In a musty old in Detroit they prayed
[Latter version:] In a old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell 'til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund
The lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche
Superior, they said, gives up her dead
When the gales of November early