His eyes will be red with wine, his teeth white with milk.
Binding his foal to the vine, his donkey’s colt to the choice vine, he has washed his garments in wine, his robes in the blood of grapes.
“Zebulun will dwell at the haven of the sea. He will be for a haven of ships. His border will be on Sidon.
Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaints? Who has needless bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes?