text_original: A doleful sound is whispered round, The sun now hides his head; The nightly gloom forebodes our doom, We all shall soon be dead. How can we bear the dreadful spear, The tomahawk and knife? And if we run, the awful gun Will rob us of our life.
text_transcription: A DOLEFUL SOUND IS WHISPERED ROUND THE SUN NOW HIDES HIS HEAD THE NIGHTLY GLOOM FOREBODES OUR DOOM WE ALL SHALL SOON BE DEAD HOW CAN WE BEAR THE DREADFUL SPEAR THE TOMAHAWK AND KNIFE AND IF WE RUN THE AWFUL GUN WILL ROB US OF OUR LIFE
phonemes: ɐ dˈoʊlfəl sˈaʊnd ɪz wˈɪspɚd ɹˈaʊnd, ðə sˈʌn nˈaʊ hˈaɪdz hɪz hˈɛd; ðə nˈaɪtli ɡlˈuːm fˈɔːɹboʊdz ˌaʊɚ dˈuːm, wiː ˈɔːl ʃˌæl sˈuːn biː dˈɛd. hˌaʊ kæn wiː bˈɛɹ ðə dɹˈɛdfəl spˈɪɹ, ðə tˈɑːmɐhˌɔːk ænd nˈaɪf? ænd ɪf wiː ɹˈʌn, ðɪ ˈɔːfəl ɡˈʌn wɪl ɹˈɑːb ˌʌs ʌv ˌaʊɚ lˈaɪf.