Daughter Zion's elders sit on the ground and mourn. They throw dust on their heads; they put on mourning clothes. Jerusalem's young women bow their heads all the way to the ground.
My eyes are worn out from weeping; my stomach is churning. My insides are poured on the ground because the daughter of my people is shattered, because children and babies are fainting in the city streets.
They say to their mothers, "Where are grain and wine?" while fainting like the wounded in the city streets, while their lives are draining away at their own mothers' breasts.