Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald

The legend lives on the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche
The lake, it is said, never gives up her
When the skies of November gloomy

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

The ship was the pride of the American
Coming back some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger most
With a crew and good captain

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

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

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

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

The captain wired in he had water in
And the ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his went out of sight
Came the of the Edmund Fitzgerald

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

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

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

And farther Lake Ontario
Takes in what Erie can send her
And the boats go, as the mariners all know
With the gales of remembered

In a musty old in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors'
The church bell chimed 'til it rang times
For man on the Edmund Fitzgerald

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