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 gives up her
When the skies of November turn
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed
[Former version:] That good and true was a bone to be chewed
[Latter version:] That good and crew was a bone to be chewed
When the of November came early

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

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

When suppertime came, the old cook 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 to know ya."
The captain in he had water comin' in
And the ship and crew was in peril
And that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund

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

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

[Former version:] In a musty old in Detroit they prayed
[Latter version:] In a rustic old in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors'
The church bell 'til it rang 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, gives up her dead
When the of November come early