text_original: Look up, Friend, look up at me ; lick my hands with that tongue which has drunk so often of human blood. Your teeth are white like mine : it is no fault of ours if they be not red as a new made wound ; but blood washes away blood.
text_transcription: LOOK UP FRIEND LOOK UP AT ME LICK MY HANDS WITH THAT TONGUE WHICH HAS DRUNK SO OFTEN OF HUMAN BLOOD YOUR TEETH ARE WHITE LIKE MINE IT IS NO FAULT OF OURS IF THEY BE NOT RED AS A NEW MADE WOUND BUT BLOOD WASHES AWAY BLOOD
phonemes: lˈʊk ˈʌp, fɹˈɛnd, lˈʊk ˈʌp æt mˌiː ; lˈɪk maɪ hˈændz wɪð ðæt tˈʌŋ wˌɪtʃ hɐz dɹˈʌŋk sˌoʊ ˈɔfən ʌv hjˈuːmən blˈʌd. jʊɹ tˈiːθ ɑːɹ wˈaɪt lˈaɪk mˈaɪn : ɪɾ ɪz nˈoʊ fˈɔlt ʌv aʊɚz ɪf ðeɪ biː nˌɑːt ɹˈɛd æz ɐ nˈuː mˌeɪd wˈuːnd ; bˌʌt blˈʌd wˈɑːʃᵻz ɐwˈeɪ blˈʌd.