I will turn your festivals into funerals and all your songs into funeral songs. I will put sackcloth around everyone’s waist and shave everyone’s head. I will make that day seem like a funeral for an only child, and its end will be bitter.
The sound of harpists, musicians, flutists, and trumpeters will never be heard in it again. A skilled craftsman—regardless of the type of craft— will never be found in it again. The sound of a millstone will never be heard in it again.
