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11 Your pomp has descended to the netherworld
    along with the music of your harps.
Maggots compose the mattress upon which you lie,
    and worms serve as your blanket.
12 To what depths have you fallen from the heavens,
    O morning star, son of the dawn!
How you have been cut down to the ground,
    you who laid the nations low!
13 You used to say in your heart,
    “I will scale the heavens.
I will raise my throne
    above the stars of God.
I will sit on the Mountain of Assembly,
    in the far recesses of the north.

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