text_original: Seek not her pathway where the airship flies And Death hath station on the nearer skies, Smiling on empires that his feet have trod, Where shone the sword and now the cannon shines, As the slow Fates, from gulfs without a God, Swing up the sun of murder on the Signs.
text_transcription: SEEK NOT HER PATHWAY WHERE THE AIRSHIP FLIES AND DEATH HATH STATION ON THE NEARER SKIES SMILING ON EMPIRES THAT HIS FEET HAVE TROD WHERE SHONE THE SWORD AND NOW THE CANNON SHINES AS THE SLOUGH FADES FROM GULFS WITHOUT A GOD SWING UP THE SUN OF MURDER ON THE SIGNS
phonemes: sˈiːk nˌɑːt hɜː pˈæθweɪ wˌɛɹ ðɪ ˈɛɹʃɪp flˈaɪz ænd dˈɛθ hæθ stˈeɪʃən ɔnðə nˈɪɹɚ skˈaɪz, smˈaɪlɪŋ ˌɔn ˈɛmpaɪɚz ðæt hɪz fˈiːt hæv tɹˈɑːd, wˌɛɹ ʃˈɑːn ðə sˈɔːɹd ænd nˈaʊ ðə kˈænən ʃˈaɪnz, æz ðə slˈoʊ fˈeɪts, fɹʌm ɡˈʌlfs wɪðˌaʊt ɐ ɡˈɑːd, swˈɪŋ ˌʌp ðə sˈʌn ʌv mˈɜːdɚɹ ɔnðə sˈaɪnz.