text_original: THE BALLAD OF THE BACCHANALS WHILE yet above the western hills The sun was red, they came to me And cried, "Your fame the city fills For cunning song and minstrelsy, And at your peril it were well To bring us, ere to morrow falls, A song new fashioned out of hell To crown our autumn Bacchanals."
text_transcription: THE BALLAD OF THE BACCHANALS WHILE YET ABOVE THE WESTERN HILLS THE SUN WAS RED THEY CAME TO ME AND CRIED YOUR FAME THE CITY FILLS FOR CUNNING SONG AND MINSTRELSY AND AT YOUR PERIL IT WERE WELL TO BRING US ERE TO MORROW FALLS A SONG NEW FASHIONED OUT OF HELL TO CROWN OUR AUTUMN BACCHANALS
phonemes: ðə bˈæləd ʌvðə bˈækənəlz wˌaɪl jˈɛt əbˌʌv ðə wˈɛstɚn hˈɪlz ðə sˈʌn wʌz ɹˈɛd, ðeɪ kˈeɪm tə mˌiː ænd kɹˈaɪd, "jʊɹ fˈeɪm ðə sˈɪɾi fˈɪlz fɔːɹ kˈʌnɪŋ sˈɔŋ ænd mˈɪnstɹɛlsi, ænd æt jʊɹ pˈɛɹəl ɪt wɜː wˈɛl tə bɹˈɪŋ ˌʌs, ˈɛɹ tə mˈɑːɹoʊ fˈɔːlz, ɐ sˈɔŋ nˈuː fˈæʃənd ˌaʊɾəv hˈɛl tə kɹˈaʊn ˌaʊɚɹ ˈɔːɾʌm bˈækənəlz."