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Wo [to] the city of blood, She is all with lies -- burglary -- full, Prey doth not depart.

The sound of a whip, And the sound of the rattling of a wheel, And of a prancing horse, and of a bounding chariot, Of a horseman mounting.

And the flame of a sword, and the lightning of a spear, And the abundance of the wounded, And the weight of carcases, Yea, there is no end to the bodies, They stumble over their bodies.

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