text_original: The blue black hair that had swept to her knees Was dull and grey. No one would turn To look at her thin face worn with tears. I felt my own wet eyelids burn, For she had been queen of my memories.
text_transcription: THE BLUE BLACK HAIR THAT HAD SWEPT TO HER KNEES WAS DULL AND GRAY NO ONE WOULD TURN TO LOOK AT HER THIN FACE WORN WITH TEARS I FELT MY OWN WET EYELIDS BURN FOR SHE HAD BEEN QUEEN OF MY MEMORIES
phonemes: ðə blˈuː blˈæk hˈɛɹ ðæt hæd swˈɛpt tə hɜː nˈiːz wʌz dˈʌl ænd ɡɹˈeɪ. nˈoʊwˈʌn wʊd tˈɜːn tə lˈʊk æt hɜː θˈɪn fˈeɪs wˈɔːɹn wɪð tˈɪɹz. aɪ fˈɛlt maɪ ˈoʊn wˈɛt ˈaɪlɪdz bˈɜːn, fɔːɹ ʃiː hɐdbɪn kwˈiːn ʌv maɪ mˈɛmɚɹiz.