text_original: "For my thought flashes out as a sword, cleaving counsel as clottage of cream; And your incense and chanting are but as the smoke of burnt towns and the scream; And I quaff me the thick mead of triumph from enemies' skulls in my dream!
text_transcription: FOR MY THOUGHT FLASHES OUT AS A SWORD CLEAVING COUNSEL AS COTTAGE OF CREAM AND YOUR INCENSE ENCHANTING ARE BUT AS THE SMOKE OF BURNT TOWNS AND THE SCREAM AND I QUOTH ME THE SICK MEED OF TRIUMPH FROM ENEMIES SKULLS IN MY DREAM
phonemes: "fɔːɹ maɪ θˈɔːt flˈæʃᵻz ˈaʊt æz ɐ sˈɔːɹd, klˈiːvɪŋ kˈaʊnsəl æz klˈɑːɾɪdʒ ʌv kɹˈiːm; ænd jʊɹ ˈɪnsɛns ænd tʃˈæntɪŋ ɑːɹ bˌʌt æz ðə smˈoʊk ʌv bˈɜːnt tˈaʊnz ænd ðə skɹˈiːm; ænd aɪ kwˈɑːf mˌiː ðə θˈɪk mˈiːd ʌv tɹˈaɪʌmf fɹʌm ˈɛnəmiz skˈʌlz ɪn maɪ dɹˈiːm!