Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend lives on from the on down
Of the big lake call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, gives up her dead
When the skies of November gloomy
With a load of iron ore thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald empty
[Former version:] That good ship and was a bone to be chewed
version:] That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November early

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

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

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

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

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
Takes in what Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all
With the gales of remembered

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