text_original: And yet it comes. As certainly as death, And far more cruel since death ends all pain, On lonesome nights we feel its icy breath, And turn and face the thing we fancied slain. With shrinking hearts, we view the ghastly shape; We look into its eyes with fear and dread, And know that we can never more escape Until the grave doth fold us with the dead.
text_transcription: AND YET IT COMES AS CERTAINLY AS DEATH AND FAR MORE CRUEL SINCE DEATH ENDS ALL PAIN ON LONESOME NIGHTS WE FEEL ITS ICY BREATH AND TURN AND FACE THE THING WE FANCIED SLAIN WITH SHRINKING HEARTS WE VIEW THE GHASTLY SHAPE WE LOOK INTO ITS EYES WITH FEAR AND DREAD AND KNOW THAT WE CAN NEVER MORE ESCAPE UNTIL THE GRAVE DOTH FOLD US WITH THE DEAD
phonemes: ænd jˈɛt ɪt kˈʌmz. æz sˈɜːʔn̩li æz dˈɛθ, ænd fˈɑːɹmˌɔːɹ kɹˈuːəl sˈɪns dˈɛθ ˈɛndz ˈɔːl pˈeɪn, ˌɔn lˈoʊnsʌm nˈaɪts wiː fˈiːl ɪts ˈaɪsi bɹˈɛθ, ænd tˈɜːn ænd fˈeɪs ðə θˈɪŋ wiː fˈænsid slˈeɪn. wɪð ʃɹˈɪŋkɪŋ hˈɑːɹts, wiː vjˈuː ðə ɡˈæstli ʃˈeɪp; wiː lˈʊk ˌɪntʊ ɪts ˈaɪz wɪð fˈɪɹ ænd dɹˈɛd, ænd nˈoʊ ðæt wiː kæn nˈɛvɚ mˈɔːɹ ɛskˈeɪp ʌntˈɪl ðə ɡɹˈeɪv dʌθ fˈoʊld ˌʌs wɪððə dˈɛd.