text_original: The Tavern Whenever I go by there nowadays And look at the rank weeds and the strange grass, The torn blue curtains and the broken glass, I seem to be afraid of the old place; And something stiffens up and down my face, For all the world as if I saw the ghost Of old Ham Amory, the murdered host, With his dead eyes turned on me all aglaze.
text_transcription: THE TAVERN WHENEVER I GO BY THERE NOWADAYS AND LOOK AT THE RANK WEEDS AND THE STRANGE GRASS THE TORN BLUE CURTAINS AND THE BROKEN GLASS I SEEM TO BE AFRAID OF THE OLD PLACE AND SOMETHING STIFFENS UP AND DOWN MY FACE FOR ALL THE WORLD AS IF I SAW THE GHOST OF OLD HAM EMORY THE MURDERED HOST WITH HIS DEAD EYES TURNED ON ME ALL AGLAZE
phonemes: ðə tˈævɚn wɛnˌɛvɚɹ aɪ ɡˌoʊ baɪ ðɛɹ nˈaʊədˌeɪz ænd lˈʊk æt ðə ɹˈæŋk wˈiːdz ænd ðə stɹˈeɪndʒ ɡɹˈæs, ðə tˈɔːɹn blˈuː kˈɜːtənz ænd ðə bɹˈoʊkən ɡlˈæs, aɪ sˈiːm təbi ɐfɹˈeɪd ʌvðɪ ˈoʊld plˈeɪs; ænd sˈʌmθɪŋ stˈɪfənz ˌʌp ænd dˌaʊn maɪ fˈeɪs, fɔːɹ ˈɔːl ðə wˈɜːld æz ɪf aɪ sˈɔː ðə ɡˈoʊst ʌv ˈoʊld hˈæm ˈæmɚɹi, ðə mˈɜːdɚd hˈoʊst, wɪð hɪz dˈɛd ˈaɪz tˈɜːnd ˌɔn mˌiː ˈɔːl ɐɡlˈeɪz.