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, never up her dead
When the skies of November turn

With a load of iron ore, thousand tons more
Than the Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be
When the of November came early

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

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

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

The came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came
When afternoon came, it was freezin'
In the of a hurricane west wind

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

The wired in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and was in peril
And later night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Fitzgerald

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

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

Lake Huron rolls, sings
In the of her ice-water mansion
Old steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for

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

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

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