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Chorus
Alas, countless are the sorrows I bear. [170] A plague is on all our people, and thought can find no weapon for defense. The fruits of the glorious earth do not grow; by no birth of offspring do women surmount the pangs in which they shriek. [175] You can see life after life speed away, like a bird on the wing, swifter than irresistible fire, to the shore of the western god.

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