Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, gives up her dead
the skies of November turn gloomy

With a of iron ore, twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed
That good ship and true was a to be chewed
When the gales of came early

The was the pride of the American side
Coming back from mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was than most
With a and good captain well-seasoned

Concluding some terms a couple steel firms
When they left fully for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship's rang
it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires the tattle-tale sound
And the wave broke the railing
And man knew, as the captain did too
T'was the witch of November stealin'

The dawn came and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November slashin'
afternoon came, it was freezin' rain
In the face of a hurricane wind

When time came, the old cook came on deck sayin'
Fellas, it's too rough to ya
At 7 P.M. a main hatchway in, he said
Fellas, it's been good to ya

The captain in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and crew was in
And later that night when his went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund

Does any one know where the of God goes
When the waves the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put more miles behind her

They have split up or they might have capsized
They may broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the
Of the wives and the sons and the

Lake rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her mansion
Old Michigan like a young man's dreams
The islands and are for sportsmen

And farther below Ontario
Takes in what Lake can send her
And the iron go, as the mariners all know
the gales of November remembered

In a musty old hall in Detroit they
In the Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it twenty-nine times
For each man on the Fitzgerald

The legend lives on from the on down
Of the big lake they 'Gitche Gumee'
Superior, said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come