text_original: 139 ON THE GREAT WAR AFTERMATH Slowly among the wounded and the slain The gleaners take the harvest of the kings, But harvest song no joyous maiden sings, And crimson fingers lift a crimson grain. Where darkness and the powers of darkness reign, They bend above unutterable things, As far away the restless searchlight swings Its ghastly ray along the burdened plain.
text_transcription: BRIVOKES DOT ORK BY SONYA AFTER MATH SLOWLY AMONG THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN THE GLEANAS TAKE THE HARVEST OF THE KINGS BUT HARVEST SONG NO JOYOUS MAIDEN SINGS AND CRIMSON FINGERS LIFT THE CRIMSON GRAIN WHERE DARKNESS AND THE POWERS OF DARKNESS REIGN THEY BEND ABOVE UNUTTERABLE THINGS AS FAR AWAY THE RESTLESS SEARCHLIGHT SWINGS ITS GHASTLY RAY ALONG THE BURDENED PLAIN
phonemes: wˈʌnhˈʌndɹɪd θˈɜːɾi nˈaɪn ɔnðə ɡɹˈeɪt dˌʌbəljˌuːˌeɪˈɑːɹ ˈæftɚmˌæθ slˈoʊli ɐmˌʌŋ ðə wˈuːndᵻd ænd ðə slˈeɪn ðə ɡlˈiːnɚz tˈeɪk ðə hˈɑːɹvɪst ʌvðə kˈɪŋz, bˌʌt hˈɑːɹvɪst sˈɔŋ nˈoʊ dʒˈɔɪəs mˈeɪdən sˈɪŋz, ænd kɹˈɪmsən fˈɪŋɡɚz lˈɪft ɐ kɹˈɪmsən ɡɹˈeɪn. wˌɛɹ dˈɑːɹknəs ænd ðə pˈaʊɚz ʌv dˈɑːɹknəs ɹˈeɪn, ðeɪ bˈɛnd əbˌʌv ʌnˈʌɾɚɹəbəl θˈɪŋz, æz fˈɑːɹ ɐwˈeɪ ðə ɹˈɛstləs sˈɜːtʃlaɪt swˈɪŋz ɪts ɡˈæstli ɹˈeɪ ɐlˈɔŋ ðə bˈɜːdənd plˈeɪn.