Luyện nghe bài hát The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her mansion
Old Michigan steams like a man's dreams
The and bays are for sportsmen

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

In a musty old hall in Detroit they
In the Maritime Cathedral
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 Gumee'
Superior, said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come