text_original: Rolled on his back, he lies with lolling tongue, Soon to the saddle savory steaks are hung. And from his mighty head, great tufts of hair Are cut as trophies for some lady fair. To vultures then they leave the torn remains Of what an hour ago was monarch of the plains.
text_transcription: ROLLED ON HIS BACK HE LIES WITH LOLLING TONGUE SOON TO THE SADDLE SAVOURY STAKES ARE HUNG AND FROM HIS MIGHTY HEAD GREAT TUFTS OF HAIR ARE CUT AS TROPHIES FOR SOME LADY FAIR TO VULTURES THEN THEY LEAVE THE TORN REMAINS OF WHAT AN HOUR AGO WAS MONARCH OF THE PLAINS
phonemes: ɹˈoʊld ˌɔn hɪz bˈæk, hiː lˈaɪz wɪð lˈɑːlɪŋ tˈʌŋ, sˈuːn tə ðə sˈædəl sˈeɪvɚɹi stˈeɪks ɑːɹ hˈʌŋ. ænd fɹʌm hɪz mˈaɪɾi hˈɛd, ɡɹˈeɪt tˈʌfts ʌv hˈɛɹ ɑːɹ kˈʌt æz tɹˈoʊfiz fɔːɹ sˌʌm lˈeɪdi fˈɛɹ. tə vˈʌltʃɚz ðˈɛn ðeɪ lˈiːv ðə tˈɔːɹn ɹᵻmˈeɪnz ʌv wʌt ɐn ˈaʊɚɹ ɐɡˈoʊ wʌz mˈɑːnɚk ʌvðə plˈeɪnz.