text_original: Died in its fever and fervour, Died in its beautiful bloom; And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge, Leading the way to the tomb. But you held my hand at parting, And I smiled back a gay good night; And you never knew of the ghastly corpse I was hiding away from your sight.
text_transcription: DIED IN ITS FEVER AND FERVOUR DIED IN ITS BEAUTIFUL BLOOM AND THAT WALLS OF STRAUSS WAS A FUNERAL DIRGE LEADING THE WAY TO THE TOMB BUT YOU HELD MY HAND AT PARTING AND I SMILED BACK A GAY GOOD NIGHT AND YOU NEVER KNEW OF THE GHASTLY CORPSE I WAS HIDING AWAY FROM YOUR SIGHT
phonemes: dˈaɪd ɪn ɪts fˈiːvɚ ænd fˈɜːvɚ, dˈaɪd ɪn ɪts bjˈuːɾifəl blˈuːm; ænd ðæt wˈɔlts ʌv stɹˈɔːs wʌzɐ fjˈuːnɚɹəl dˈɜːdʒ, lˈiːdɪŋ ðə wˈeɪ tə ðə tˈuːm. bˌʌt juː hˈɛld maɪ hˈænd æt pˈɑːɹɾɪŋ, ænd aɪ smˈaɪld bˈæk ɐ ɡˈeɪ ɡˈʊd nˈaɪt; ænd juː nˈɛvɚ nˈuː ʌvðə ɡˈæstli kˈɔːɹps aɪ wʌz hˈaɪdɪŋ ɐwˈeɪ fɹʌm jʊɹ sˈaɪt.