²⁹     But who will come now that I am roaming the wilderness?
        I am a brother to jackals, a friend of ostriches.
³⁰     Despite my earnest cries, my skin burns until it is black and flakes off,
        and my bones burn with fever.
³¹     And so my harp is tuned to the key of mourning,
        and my flute is pitched to the sound of weeping.