The elders of the daughter of Zion sit upon the ground,
The money and the thrones are gone.
The adjulation and praise have disappeared,
And keep silence:
They have cast up dust upon their heads;
They mourn like Job.
They have girded themselves with sackcloth:
No more taylor suits, and expensive excessories.
The virgins of Jerusalem hang down their heads to the ground,
Their celebrities are brought low, finally.
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