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When I lie down, I say, Mosai (how long) till I arise? But the erev drags on, and I am full of tossings to and fro unto dawn.

My basar is clothed with worm and clod of aphar; my ohr (skin) is broken, and become loathsome.

My yamim are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent without tikveh.

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