⁴ The parched tongues of their little ones
    stick to the roofs of their mouths in thirst.
The children cry for bread,
    but no one has any to give them.

¹⁵ My strength has dried up like sunbaked clay.
    My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
    You have laid me in the dust and left me for dead.

¹¹ I have cried until the tears no longer come;
    my heart is broken.
My spirit is poured out in agony
    as I see the desperate plight of my people.
Little children and tiny babies
    are fainting and dying in the streets.

¹² They cry out to their mothers,
    “We need food and drink!”
Their lives ebb away in the streets
    like the life of a warrior wounded in battle.
They gasp for life
    as they collapse in their mothers’ arms.

¹¹ Her people groan as they search for bread.
    They have sold their treasures for food to stay alive.
“O Lord, look,” she mourns,
    “and see how I am despised.

⁶ May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth
    if I fail to remember you,
    if I don’t make Jerusalem my greatest joy.

²⁴ I will weaken them with famine,
    burning fever, and deadly disease.
I will send the fangs of wild beasts
    and poisonous snakes that glide in the dust.