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.
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
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.