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A nation has come to fight against my land. Its army is powerful, with too many to number. Its teeth are the teeth of a lion. It has the long, sharp teeth of a female lion. It has made my vine a waste, and has broken my fig tree to pieces. It has torn off their covering and thrown it away. Their branches have become white.

Cry in sorrow like a young, pure woman dressed in cloth made from hair because the man she was going to marry is dead.

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