She weepeth sore in the night,
Swimming in her bed of affliction.
And her tears are on her cheeks,
The Lord keeps them in His bottle.
Among all her lovers,
Those who made her promises,
She hath none to comfort her;
Only He tenderly speaks to the burdened soul.
All her friends,
Those who said they would never leave,
Have dealt treacherously with her.
They robbed her of ancient treasure,
They are become her enemies.
Thus, the war began.