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A day of our king! Princes have polluted themselves [with] the poison of wine, He hath drawn out his hand with scorners.

For they have drawn near, As an oven [is] their heart, In their lying in wait all the night sleep doth their baker, Morning! he is burning as a flaming fire.

All of them are warm as an oven, And they have devoured their judges, All their kings have fallen, There is none calling unto Me among them.

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