The noisy grinding of grain and the voices of singers will be shut out by your deaf ears, but even the song of a bird will keep you awake.
I will put an end to your parties and wedding celebrations; no one will grind grain or be here to light the lamps at night.
I'm already 80 years old, and my body is almost numb. I can't taste my food or hear the sound of singing, and I would be nothing but a burden.
The music of harps and singers and of flutes and trumpets will no longer be heard. No workers will ever set up shop in that city, and the sound of grinding grain will be silenced forever.
Start grinding grain! Take off your veil. Strip off your fancy clothes and wade across rivers.
Who would try to open its jaws, full of fearsome teeth? *