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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.

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