text_original: The coming of night was always a relief now, for with the end of the day's work he need no longer fight his battle. It was a losing battle  that he knew. Shunning everybody, he paced to and fro out on the dark, windy desert, under the lonely, pitiless stars.
text_transcription: THE COMING OF NIGHT WAS ALWAYS A RELIEF NOW FOR WITH THE END OF THE DAY'S WORK HE NEED NO LONGER FIGHT HIS BATTLE IT WAS A LOSING BATTLE THAT HE KNEW SHUNNING EVERYBODY HE PACED TO AND FRO OUT ON THE DARK WINDY DESERT UNDER THE LONELY PITILESS STARS
phonemes: ðə kˈʌmɪŋ ʌv nˈaɪt wʌz ˈɔːlweɪz ɐ ɹᵻlˈiːf nˈaʊ, fɔːɹ wɪððɪ ˈɛnd ʌvðə dˈeɪz wˈɜːk hiː nˈiːd nˌoʊ lˈɑːŋɡɚ fˈaɪt hɪz bˈæɾəl. ɪt wʌzɐ lˈuːzɪŋ bˈæɾəl ðæt hiː nˈuː. ʃˈʌnɪŋ ˈɛvɹɪbˌɑːdi, hiː pˈeɪst tˌuːəndfɹˈoʊ ˈaʊt ɔnðə dˈɑːɹk, wˈɪndi dˈɛzɚt, ˌʌndɚ ðə lˈoʊnli, pˈɪɾiləs stˈɑːɹz.