text_original: Nothing is left me, but supreme despair; The bitter dregs that tell of wasted wine. Come furrowed brow, dull eye, and frosted hair, Companions fit for this old heart of mine.
text_transcription: NOTHING IS LEFT ME BUT SUPREME DESPAIR THE BITTER DREGS THAT TELL OF WASTED WINE COME FURROWED BROW DULL EYE AND FROSTED HAIR COMPANIONS FIT FOR THIS OLD HEART OF MINE
phonemes: nˈʌθɪŋ ɪz lˈɛft mˌiː, bˌʌt suːpɹˈiːm dᵻspˈɛɹ; ðə bˈɪɾɚ dɹˈɛɡz ðæt tˈɛl ʌv wˈeɪstᵻd wˈaɪn. kˈʌm fˈɜːɹoʊd bɹˈaʊ, dˈʌl ˈaɪ, ænd fɹˈɔstᵻd hˈɛɹ, kəmpˈæniənz fˈɪt fɔːɹ ðɪs ˈoʊld hˈɑːɹt ʌv mˈaɪn.