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12 My dwelling is pulled up
    and removed from me as a shepherd’s tent;
I rolled up my life like a weaver.
    He cuts me off from the loom;
    from day even to night You make an end of me.
13 I composed my soul until morning,
    like a lion, so He breaks all my bones;
    from day even to night You make an end of me.
14 Like a crane or a swallow, so I twitter;
    I mourn as a dove;
my eyes look wistfully upward.
    O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me.

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