text_original: My grave will be so lone and bare, I fear to think of those dark hours, For none will plant it o'er with flowers, Because I am not fair; They will not in the summer come And speak kind words above me there; To me the grave will be no home, Because I am not fair.
text_transcription: MY GRAVE WILL BE SO LONE AND BARE I FEAR TO THINK OF THOSE DARK HOURS FOR NONE WILL PLANT IT O'ER WITH FLOWERS BECAUSE I AM NOT FAIR THEY WILL NOT IN THE SUMMER COME AND SPEAK KIND WORDS ABOVE ME THERE TO ME THE GRAVE WILL BE NO HOME BECAUSE I AM NOT FAIR
phonemes: maɪ ɡɹˈeɪv wɪl biː sˌoʊ lˈoʊn ænd bˈɛɹ, aɪ fˈɪɹ tə θˈɪŋk ʌv ðoʊz dˈɑːɹk ˈaʊɚz, fɔːɹ nˈʌn wɪl plˈænt ɪɾ ˈɔːɹ wɪð flˈaʊɚz, bɪkˈʌz aɪɐm nˌɑːt fˈɛɹ; ðeɪ wɪl nˌɑːt ɪnðə sˈʌmɚ kˈʌm ænd spˈiːk kˈaɪnd wˈɜːdz əbˌʌv mˌiː ðˈɛɹ; tə mˌiː ðə ɡɹˈeɪv wɪl biː nˈoʊ hˈoʊm, bɪkˈʌz aɪɐm nˌɑːt fˈɛɹ.