They ask their mothers, "Is there anything to eat or drink?" They faint in the streets of the city like wounded men. Their life ebbs away while they lie on their mother's bosom.

Young men and the aged lie on the ground in the streets; my young women and young men have fallen by the sword. You killed them in your anger, slaughtering them without pity.

Those who enjoyed delicacies lie desolate in the streets. Those who were reared wearing purple scavenge in piles of trash.