Your feasts will be turned into sorrow and all your melody into songs of grief; everyone will be clothed with haircloth, and the hair of every head will be cut; I will make the weeping like that for an only son, and the end of it like a bitter day.
And the voice of players and makers of music will never again be sounding in you: and no worker, expert in art, will ever again be living in you; and there will be no sound of the crushing of grain any more at all in you;