text_original: O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God, This monstrous thing distorted and soul quenched 1 How will you ever straighten up this shape ; Touch it again with immortality ; Give back the upward looking and the light ; Rebuild in it the music and the dream ; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
text_transcription: OH MASTERS LORDS AND RULERS IN ALL LANDS IS THIS THE HANDIWORK YOU GIVE TO GOD THIS MONSTROUS THING DISTORTED AND SOUL QUENCHED HOW WILL YOU EVER STRAIGHTEN UP THIS SHAPE TOUCH IT AGAIN WITH IMMORTALITY GIVE BACK THE UPWARD LOOKING AND DELIGHT REBUILD IN IT THE MUSIC AND THE DREAM MAKE RIGHT THE IMMEMORIAL INFAMIES PERFIDIOUS WRONGS IMMEDICABLE WOES
phonemes: ˈoʊ mˈæstɚz, lˈɔːɹdz ænd ɹˈuːlɚz ɪn ˈɔːl lˈændz, ɪz ðɪs ðə hˈændiwˌɜːk juː ɡˈɪv tə ɡˈɑːd, ðɪs mˈɔnstɹəs θˈɪŋ dɪstˈɔːɹɾᵻd ænd sˈoʊl kwˈɛntʃt wˈʌn hˌaʊ wɪl juː ˈɛvɚ stɹˈeɪtən ˌʌp ðɪs ʃˈeɪp ; tˈʌtʃ ɪɾ ɐɡˈɛn wɪð ɪmɔːɹtˈælᵻɾi ; ɡˈɪv bˈæk ðɪ ˈʌpwɚd lˈʊkɪŋ ænd ðə lˈaɪt ; ɹᵻbˈɪld ɪn ɪt ðə mjˈuːzɪk ænd ðə dɹˈiːm ; mˌeɪk ɹˈaɪt ðɪ ˌɪmɪmˈɔːɹɪəl ˈɪnfəmiz, pɜːfˈɪdiəs ɹˈɔŋz, ɪmˈɛdɪkəbəl wˈoʊz?