My body! my body! how I writhe! The walls of my heart! My heart beats wildly, I cannot be still; For I myself have heard the blast of the horn, the battle cry.
When they are parched, I will set drink before them to make them drunk, that they may be overcome with everlasting sleep, never to awaken— oracle of the Lord.
I will make her princes and sages drunk, with her governors, officers, and warriors, so that they sleep an everlasting sleep, never to awaken—oracle of the King, whose name is Lord of hosts.
Suddenly, opposite the lampstand, the fingers of a human hand appeared, writing on the plaster of the wall in the king’s palace. When the king saw the hand that wrote,
In the morning you will say, “Would that it were evening!” and in the evening you will say, “Would that it were morning!” because of the dread that your heart must feel and the sight that your eyes must see.