If only my head was a stream of waters and my eyes fountains of weeping, so that I might go on weeping day and night for the dead of the daughter of my people!
From on high he has sent fire into my bones, and it has overcome them: his net is stretched out for my feet, I am turned back by him; he has made me waste and feeble all the day.
Let all their evil-doing come before you; do to them as you have done to me for all my sins: for loud is the sound of my grief, and the strength of my heart is gone.