Letras
Woe to the bloody city
All full of lies and plunder
No end to the prey!
The crack of the whip
And rumble of the wheel
Galloping horse and bounding chariot
Horsemen charging
Flashing sword and glittering spear
Hosts of slain
Heaps of corpses
Dead bodies without end
They stumble over the bodies!
And all for the countless whorings
Of the prostitute,
Graceful and of deadly charms,
Who betrays nations with her whorings
And peoples with her charms
Behold, I am against you!
Declares the Lord of hosts
And I will lift up your skirts over your face
And I will make nations look at your nakedness
And kingdoms at your shame
I will throw filth at you
And treat you with contempt
And make you a spectacle
And all who look at you
Will shrink from you and say
Wasted is Ninevah
Who will grieve for her
Where shall I seek comforters for you?
Are you better than Thebes that sat by the Nile
With water around her
Her rampart a sea
And water her wall
Cush was her strength
Egypt too, and that without limit
Put and the Libyans were her helpers
Yet she became an exile
She went into captivity
Her infants were dashed in pieces
At the head of every street
For her honored men lots were cast
And all her great men were bound in chains
You also will be drunken
You will go into hiding
You will seek a refuge from the enemy
All your fortresses are like fig trees with first-ripe figs
If shaken they fall into the mouth of the eater
Behold, your troops are women in your midst
The gates of your land are
Wide open to your enemies
Fire has devoured your bars
Draw water for the siege
Strengthen your forts
Go into the clay
Tread the mortar;
Take hold of the brick mold
There will the fire devour you
The sword will cut you off
It will devour you like the locust
Multiply yourselves like the locust
Multiply like the grasshopper!
You increased your merchants
More than the stars of the heavens
The locust spreads its wings and flies away
Your princes are like grasshoppers
Your scribes like clouds of locusts
Settling on the fences in a day of cold
When the sun rises
They fly away
No one knows where they are
Your shepherds are asleep
O king of Assyria
Your nobles slumber
Your people are scattered on the mountains
With none to gather them
There is no easing your hurt
Your wound is grievous
All who hear the news about you
Clap their hands over you
For upon whom has not come your unceasing evil?