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I shall soon fall prey to rot.
Though it's hard to die,
It's good to die;
I shall ask for no one's pity,
And there's no one who would pity me.

With my lyre I won no glory
For my noble family name;
And I die as distant from my people
As the day that I began to live.

Ties of friendship,
Unions of the heart-
All are broken:
From my youth,
Fate has sent me foes implacable,
While my friends all
Perished in the struggle.

From the walls

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