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Your (A)land is desolate;
Your cities are burned with fire;
Your fields—strangers are devouring them in your presence;
It is desolate, as overthrown by strangers.

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For (A)they sow the wind,
And they reap the (B)whirlwind.
The standing grain has no growth;
It makes (C)no flour.
Should it make anything, strangers would swallow it up.

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