Alas, countless are the sorrows I bear.A plague is on all our people, and thought can find no weapon for defense. The fruits of the glorious earth do not grow; by no birth of offspring do women surmount the pangs in which they shriek.You can see life after life speed away, like a bird on the wing, swifter than irresistible fire, to the shore of the western god.

ChorusWith such deaths, past numbering, the city perishes.