text_original: Well, let the bitter taste Of fruit that turned to ashes on my lip Be my reminder in temptation's hour, And keep me silent when I would condemn. Sometimes it takes the acid of a sin To cleanse the clouded windows of our souls So pity may shine through them.
text_transcription: WELL LET THE BITTER TASTE OF FRUIT THAT TURN TO ASHES ON MY LIP BE MY REMINDER IN TEMPTATION'S HOUR AND KEEP ME SILENT WHEN I WOULD CONDEMN SOMETIMES IT TAKES THE ACID OF A SIN TO CLEANSE THE CLOUDED WINDOWS OF OUR SOULS SO PITY MAY SHINE THROUGH THEM
phonemes: wˈɛl, lˈɛt ðə bˈɪɾɚ tˈeɪst ʌv fɹˈuːt ðæt tˈɜːnd tʊ ˈæʃᵻz ˌɔn maɪ lˈɪp biː maɪ ɹᵻmˈaɪndɚɹ ɪn tɛmptˈeɪʃənz ˈaʊɚ, ænd kˈiːp mˌiː sˈaɪlənt wɛn aɪ wʊd kəndˈɛm. sˈʌmtaɪmz ɪt tˈeɪks ðɪ ˈæsɪd əvə sˈɪn tə klˈɛnz ðə klˈaʊdᵻd wˈɪndoʊz ʌv ˌaʊɚ sˈoʊlz sˌoʊ pˈɪɾi mˈeɪ ʃˈaɪn θɹˈuː ðˌɛm.