|The woman tears at her hair as if it were rushes. She beats the holy ub drum at her chest, she cries "Alas, my city". Her eyes well with tears, she weeps bitterly: "Woe is me, my city which no longer exists -- I am not its queen. Nanna, the shrine Urim which no longer exists -- I am not its owner. Woe is me, I am one whose cow-pen has been torn down, I am one whose cows have been scattered. I am Ningal on whose ewes the weapon has fallen, as in the case of an unworthy herdsman. Woe is me, I have been exiled from the city, I can find no rest. I am Ningal, I have been exiled from the house, I can find no dwelling place. I am sitting as if a stranger with head high in a strange city. Debt-slaves …… bitterness ……."