Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend lives on from the on down
Of the big lake they Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, gives 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 That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
[Latter version:] That good ship and crew was a bone to be
When the of November came early

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

The in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
When the broke over the railing
And man knew, as the captain did too
'Twas the witch of November stealin'
The dawn came late and the had to wait
When the of November came slashin'
When afternoon came it was freezing
In the face of a west wind

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

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

Lake Huron rolls, Superior
In the of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams a young man's dreams
The and bays are for sportsmen
And below, Lake Ontario
Takes in Lake Erie can send her
And the boats go as the mariners all know
With the of November remembered

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