Our hearts are sad; instead of dancing, we mourn.
My only songs are sorrow and sadness.
You have turned my sorrow into joyful dancing. No longer am I sad and wearing sackcloth.
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.
Your festivals and joyful singing will turn into sorrow. You will wear sackcloth and shave your heads, as you would at the death of your only son. It will be a horrible day.