Then pitch blackness decends. There is a brief moment of silence before the plunge into sensation...and... before the whole banquet, in Zumun's silver sheen, the players are illuminated.

The qarnu roars. The lillizu beats at slow pace. The pitnu compliments the bass. The mood is set. The song is a melancholy balangu.

The singers begin to slowly sway left and right, like cypress branches in the breeze.

Then, with impeccable grace, the young woman at the kinnaru plucked a sad tune of long intervals. The kinnaru's sound was like a mouthful of deep wine. The kinnaru held a deep grip on Nawirnushu's heart. Its tune was tragic.

The nargallu stepped forward. He outstretched his arm. With great command he proclaimed his song as the powerful voice of Lord Zumun:

𒀭𒍪𒂗 𒆳𒀀 𒉌𒆠 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

dZu-En kur-a-ni-ki muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Zumun has turned his back on fair Kharani!"

The strings ceased, but the drums continued unabated. Then the shulpu cried, the ebubbu replied to a whistle from the malulu, like the call of strange birds. Every member of the band with a free mouth softly chanted the repeating chorus, like a lyrical whisper:

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

After the chant, the alu gonged, and the metal of the duwahu rattled and tinkled. Then the pitnu and the kinnaru resumed their tunes under the supervision of the uninterrupted beat of the lillizu drum. This pattern repeated through the rest of the kirugu:

𒀭𒌋𒈬𒌦 𒌷𒀀 𒉌 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DU-mu-un iri-a-ni muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"The Lord has turned his back on the city"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒌓 𒂍𒃲𒀀 𒉌 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DUd e2-gal-a-ni muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Utu has turned his back on the palace"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒅎 𒆳𒂊𒉈 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DIm kur-e-ne muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Ishkur has turned his back on the hills"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒁕𒃶 𒀀𒊮𒀀 𒉌 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

dDagan a-šag4-a-ni muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Dagan has turned his back on his fields"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒋝𒋝 𒀉𒉡𒁕 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DSig-sig a2-nu-da muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Ziqiqu has turned his back on the bed chambers"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

Then at this verse of the Kirugu, the zammartu herself stepped forward. Her voice was sweet as honey, but serious in tone. She chanted in tandem with the girl behind the kinnaru, who had a raspier, lower voice.

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒀏 𒃸 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-abXhal kar2 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashanshe has turned her back on the docks"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒈹 𒆠𒇴 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-inanna ki-lam muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashananna has turned her back on the souk"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒃲 𒂍𒂠 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-inanna E2-esh2 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashangal has turned her back on the prison"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒄩𒉺𒀭𒋫𒇷 𒍠𒀀 𒉌 𒈹 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-ha-pa-an-ta-li zag-a-ni muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashan Hapantali has turned her back on her district,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒉺𒂅 𒆠 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-hur-sag ki muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashanhursag has turned her back on the land"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒉀 𒂍𒁾𒁀 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-naga e2-dub-ba muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashanisaba has turned her back on the schoolhouse"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒁀𒌑 𒂍𒌨𒂠 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-ba-u2 e2-ur-gir15 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashan Bau has turned her back on the dog house"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

𒂵𒊭𒀭𒂯 𒌑𒅥𒀀 𒉌 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Ga-sha-an-ezenXla u2-gu7-a-ni muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Gashangulbana has turned her back on the pastures"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept her flock"

Then the nargallu took over the first lines again:

𒀭𒀯𒆤 𒅎𒋛𒀀𒂊𒉈 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Dmul-lil2 im-si-a-e-ne muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Mullil has turned his back on the clouds,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒂗𒆠 𒀭𒇉 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DEn-ki Did2 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Enki has turned his back on the canal"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒀭 𒃡𒂦 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

dAn ur3-bad3 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"An has turned his back on the rooftops"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒄑𒁇𒈬𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DGish-bar suh7 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Nusku has turned his back on the chambers,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒊩𒌆𒄈𒋢𒂦𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DNin-ngir2-su bad3 muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Ningirsu has turned his back on the walls,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒄊𒀴𒊺𒊏𒃲 𒄯𒊏𒀭𒆗 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

DGIR3-ir11-ra-gal har-ra-an-kalag muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Nergal has turned his back on the barracks,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒉺𒊕𒋖 𒋡𒂊𒉈 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

dpa-sag(-ga2) Sila3-e-ne muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Hendursanga has turned his back on the streets,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

𒀭𒋗𒈬𒃶 𒄑𒄀 𒈹 𒈪𒉌𒅔𒂵

Dshu-mu-kan gesh-gi muš3 mi-ni-in-ga

"Shumuqan has turned his back on the thicket,"

𒁦𒀀𒈾 𒆤𒂊

amaš-a-na lil2-e

"Now the winds have swept his flock"

And by this point, even Nawirnushu had become lulled by this like verse, and had become lost in his own heart.

-Then all the instruments, even the drums, stopped. The courtyard fell silent. The zammartu raised her arms in a dramatic gesture of mourning and cried out the gishgingal:

"Now the winds have swept her flock, she wails in grief for them. O Great Bull, no more does your song fill the pasture! No longer does the pasture bring joy to the shepherd and sheep!"

-Then, to Nawirnushu's surprise, the huge man blew the horn, first with enough force that he was certain the sound must have echoed beyond the city walls like a lion's roar! It must have roused all manner of things in the night, but the man changed his posture, and the call of the horn evened into a rumbling drone. It was over this drone that the rattles and tambourines took on a clapping beat, and the pitnu and the kinnaru switched lead and rythym.

The zammartu sung her lyrics, the first part with a sweet, high voice, and then the second part with the same low humming in her throat each time:

"O Zumun, the dirge is bitter,"

Then, as before, everyone but the singers and the musicians with wind instruments chanted the reply. This line in reply was only accompanied by a mopey tune out of the ebubbu:

"This sad song that is sung of you"

The rattling of the duwahu always trailed its final syllable, followed by a short exchange between the alu and the lilizu. Then the pattern once again repeated through the verse:

"O fair city, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you."

"For His Mountain, the dirge is bitter,"

This sad song that is sung of you

"O fairest Kharani,"

-But then here the whole band sang the second part of the responding verse:

"The dirge is bitter

The sad song that is sung for you is bitter,"

"Your dirge is bitter, fair city"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"Forlorn Kharani, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

Then the zammartu sung the rest of the verses in a voice like whimpering. Her announcements and replies scored by a somber companionship between the ebbubu flute and the chirping of the children's whistles.

"How many nights must this sad song

bring tears to the heart of Zumun?

How many nights must this sad song

bring tears to the heart of Our Lord?"

The questions were answered with a melancholy pitnu solo. The next verse returned to the established pattern:

"O brick-stacked Kharani, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-Kur-Babbar, House of the White Mountain, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-Sirara, House of the Bay, the dirge is bitter,"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-kar-kara, House of the Supreme Shining, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-Mul, House of the Star, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O-Shesh-Kar, House of the Bright Brother, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-Sig-Babbar-Kissri, House of the White Wool Comb, the dirge is bitter

"This sad song that is sung of you"

"O E-Sig-Mes, House of the Black Wood, the dirge is bitter"

"This sad song that is sung of you"

Then the kirugu took on a new shape. Now the two female singers, the zammartu and the kinnaru harpist, replied to the announcements of the nargulu.

The nargulu's call, a boisterous proclamation of splendour, was accompanied by a hopeful tune on the pitnu.

Nargulu: "O Kharani, your name is sweet to our lips"

The women's reply came paired with a stronger and more serious melody on the balangu.

Zammartu: "but now you are in ruins."

Nargulu: "O Mountain, your defenses rose high."

Zammartu: "but your lands were laid waste."

Briefly roles were reversed.

Zammartu: "O Nanshe, like a motherly ewe"

Nargulu: "your lamb has been snatched.

O Zumun, like a stubborn he-goat,"

Zammartu: "your kid has been dashed upon the rocks."

Nargulu: "O Temple, your purity,"

All: "it has been contaminated,

your very foundation has been made foreign to you!"

An ebubbu shriek hung off that last syllable.

As if a woman wailing, the zammartu, noticeably tearing at the eyes, accompanied by the the ebubbu and the whistles and ocarinas, again called forth that most painful mystery:

"How many nights must this sad song

bring tears to the heart of our lord?

How many nights must this sad song

bring tears to the heart of Zumun?"

All the instruments fell silent, and the zammartu, her face soaked in tears, called forth the gishgingal:

"In his fair city, now of ruins, its dirge is bitter. In his fair Kharani, now of ruins, its dirge is bitter."

The qarnu bellowed a slow yawn, announcing the start of the next kirugu.

It was the zammartu herself who carried a steady beat in this part, banging her halhallatu drum with her palm. The rest of the band looked on at the zammartu and the kinnaru player.

The zammartu assumed the role of the Lady Nanshe, she moaned her ballad tearfully in rememberance. Her lyrics were intermingled with kinnaru riffs.

"With Zumun, who looked on in horror,

She emerged in solidarity.

The Just Lady,

Came to rouse the lord to act for the land,

Nanshe, to expose to him the heart of the people,

Came before Zumun for the city she loved-

Crying brackish waters

She bowed before Zumun to show him the city's doom-

Crying impure waters

Bowed before The Lord

Crying bloody waters.

Bowed before The Lord

She sung for him her sorrowful dirge."

Lady Nanshe, after she had written this lament

with her wailing harp,

whispers softly her painful remembrance for the house of silence:

"A gloom sails over Kharani

Its sorrow weighs on my heart like stone.

Its evil rages wild across the night,

It is I who the storm appeared before.

A tempest that appeared before me

Its sorrow weighs on my heart like stone.

The swarm of malice came and appeared to me that day,

That day which shakes me like thunder,

Yet, I could not escape the slaughter.

The tempest weighs on me like stone,

There were no good days in sight,

Not one day reprieved of sorrow.

"The roving tragedy hounded me,

raging wild across that night,

That night which shakes me like thunder

Yet, I could not escape the slaughter.

The overwhelming torrent,

The deluge of wickedness, it submerses me, drowns me

It waits for me at night, where I sleep,

In my slumber it mauls at me, ensnares me, so I cannot sleep.

The unrelenting plague, what it dragged away from me,

It blew away the tranquility of my bedroom,

It denied me even Ziqiqu's relief.

"It was on that terrible day,

The day when the storm smashed our fair town,

I watched as the land was ravaged by the forces of cruelty,

The moment they allowed its desolation,

that grim day when our final lords judged the city,

The day they proclaimed, "Kharani shall surely be annihilated"

The day they agreed, "the people shall all be put to death"

In that moment, I stood, I did not turn away!"

"I prostrated myself and wept, appealing before An.

I cried to Mullil, I knelt at his feet.

'Do not destroy my city!,' I begged.

'Don't let Kharani be destroyed!' I begged.

'Save its people!' I begged.

Yet, An continued to stare past me, unstirred.

Mullil ignored, and declined to say 'Your petition has turned my heart"

"Twice I urged them,

At the gathering of the Anuna gods of Kiyengi,

The court of the Anuna was set up in the netherworld,

I fell on my belly, my arms stretched in reverence.

I prostrated myself and wept, appealing before An.

I cried to Mullil, I knelt at his feet.

'Do not destroy my city!,' I begged.

'Do not let Kharani be destroyed!' I begged.

'Save its people!' I begged.

Yet An continued to stare past me, unstirred.

Mullil ignored, and declined to say 'Your petition has turned my heart"

"On account of the bleakness of the country,

I marauded the land like a wild bull.

As vultures circled the rings of Kharani,

I fluttered like a hungry bird to a windowsill;

The city had been torn out from its very foundations;

Kharani lay silent like an ewe's stillbirth.

The wild tempest surrounded the city,

I attacked it, I shrieked at it, I screamed at it

'O roving evil things, O horrors, go back to the wastes!'

The billowing winds of evil did not waiver."

The zammartu ceased singing, The balangu was no longer plucked, yet the Uppu's beat continued from the zammartu's hands. The Nargallu stepped forward to pronounce the gishgingal:

"May the tears that fall for Kharani flow like Buranuna; The lady Nanshe's powers have been made strange to her."

Then the next kirugu began, this time being sung by the Nargallu accompanied by a tune on the pitnu and ebubbu flute.

"The great god's prowling calls the wicked winds"

The reply was overwhelming, the entire band with open mouths shouted the chorus, trailing on the final syllable. With each lyrical answer all the wind instruments and cymbals swelled into a menacing sting. Finally, this was the childrens' moment, as they blew their whistles and shook their rattles as loud as they possibly could.

"the land wails!!!" they cried.

And this was repeated with some variation through the rest of the Kirugu:

He snatches the aura of prosperity -

the land wails!!!

He wrenches the peaceful storm away from Kharani-

the land wails!!!

He whispers advice to the cruel storm-

the land wails!!!

He adorns the devil, Pazuzu, with great power,

the lurker on the breeze.

He blows the wayward debris of chaos

the land wails!!!

He gathers the grim gales that chill the spine

the land wails!!!

The Great God brings the gods of the nations to his side.

the land wails!!!

Adad's axe slams his shield like thunder

the land wails!!!

The bull of heaven rains down from above

the land wails!!!

The wild bull of the thicket rises up

the land wails!!!

The well of sorrow overflows,

When the lyrical reply was different from the chorus, it was answered by the zammartu.

"it cannot be stymied."

"The arms of warriors clash in the streets,"

"and take excessively of the people."

Zumun and Utu are not visible to the people

the land wails!!!

Across the earth, warrior Erra's hate simmers

the land wails!!!

Hendursaga's standard blazes across the terror-filled night

the land wails!!!

When the dark clouds of rain and evil winds had settled,

pyres rose across the countryside.

Mullil took away Utu and locked up E-Shesh-Kar,

The House of the Bright Brother,

with the pleasant breeze of morning,

Zumun nor Utu could rise to fight off The Seven;

Utu shrunk to the size of a star.

On the nights of midsummer, as a gentle coolness blows

The punishing storm brews.

The bodies of the people lie stacked like mud bricks,

the land wails!!!

The bodies of the people lie strewn like potsherds,

the land wails!!!

The bodies of the people were red, like clay

the land wails!!!

The people were blown away by the huffing and puffing of demons

The land wails!!!

The country was turned upside-down

The land wails!!!

The children of Shumuqan descended on the land

Every innocent is consumed.

Wherever they go, tears are as rain

the land wails!!!

Now the alu, the lilizu, and the halhallatu beat together at a steady pace.

The children, they are the chaos

The chaos which spares no mother,

the chaos which spares no father,

the chaos which spares no wife,

the chaos which spares no child,

the chaos which spares no sister,

the chaos which spares no brother,

the chaos which spares no neighbour,

the chaos which spares no lover,

the chaos which spurns the women,

the chaos which orphans the child,"

Only the zammartu cried out the gishingal:

"the chaos which eclipses the luminance of Lord Zumun!"

The alu gonged. The Nargallu resumed his singing with a grandiose bravado in his deep voice:

The malevolent happenings were carried out over the land

They sunk the houses like a hurricane

The doom that looms over the city.

The doom that makes that which is good in life vanish.

The doom cast in molten metal, annointed in sparks and fire.

The doom bellowed with malice by vicious hounds in the night,

The doom that clings to the city,

Kharani is smothered, as if by a sheet of gloom

spread out over it like a funeral shroud.

When the last of the winds had whipped the wreckage,

Ghost haunted mounds were all that remained.

Zumun's fairest city became no more than a large tomb-

the land wails!!!

The bodies were cast across the town

like broken pottery in a junk heap.

The great wild bull destroyed the walls-

the land wails!!!

Across the gates of the gods, where banners once sailed,

now there are heads skewered on pikes.

Along the road, where Zumun would walk among the people,

now blood seeps between the cobbles, down to the very foundation

Through the alleys where one would pleasantly stroll

now the path is congested by bodies.

Upon the courtyard where merry people danced and feasted,

corpses were piled high!

Dug up from its very root

The bones of all the ancestors were crushed,

Bodies sizzled in Erra's simmer, exposed,

curdling like lard

Severed heads lay agape

an evil sight.

They are forced to eat dust,

they are unrelieved in Arali.

The evil ones patrol the streets

They pierce the fleeing man with spears.

Where their mothers had borne them,

They were as stillbirths.

The evil ones patrol the streets,

They brained the fleeing man with maces.

The necks of those hanging,

swung like a drunkards'

The brave warriors were cut down against the enemy weapons-

the land wails!!!

The ones who flee were swallowed by the winds of the tempest-

the land wails!!!

On long roads to no place, the lost children starve and weep.

Families who stood by their homesteads

they were burned alive.

Demons snatched the infant from the mother's arms

Like a lion snatches a lamb.

The lovers who held hands,

could not keep their grip.

The authority of the country evaporates-

the land wails!!!

The palace is in flames, its administrators are dead-

the land wails!!!

The Mother has turned her back on Her Child-

the land wails!!!

The Father has turned his back on His Child-

the land wails!!!

The City has turned its back on the Widow

the land wails!!!

The City has turned its back on the Orphan.

the land wails!!!

By now the howling chorus had become like torture. The cacophany of repeated, shrieking noise hammered Nawirnushu's eardrums and left him reeling in his chair.

The poor people of Kharani,...

To the king's relief, the zammartu now answered the statements of the Nargallu.

... were dragged from their homes in the night.

Its Lord like a frightened bird

Flew off into the sky.

Zumun like a frightened bird

Flew off into the sky.

Its Lady like a frightened bird

Flew off into the sky.

Nanshe like a frightened bird

Flew off into the sky.

The vast bounty of the land

was stolen by cutthroats.

In the temple warehouses of abundance

fires now consume the ruins.

The sacred canal was contaminated

now its water is brackish as tears.

The music all stopped, and it was the raspy throat of the girl playing the kinnaru who announced the title of the gishingal:

"The storm, like a lion, has attacked unceasingly-

the land wails!!!"

As before, all fell silent but the beat of the zammartu's uppu drum, yet it is the kinnaru harpist whose voice and pleasant scales begin the Kirugu:

The Lady Nanshe, stands opposed,

she circles her lost city like a wolf.

The ravaged homes of her people weigh her heart with grief.

Her own house is violated, Her own house has been made hollow,

She sighs "Woe!" and says:

Now the zammartu representing Nanshe once again took over the singing. A sustained tune from the ebbubu flute lingered on the ends of the verses.

"The land no longer offers my flock abundance,

The good shepherd is gone.

Kharani no longer offers my flock abundance,

The shepherd boy is gone.

The fish no longer lolly in the canal,

there is no more fisherman.

The sheep no longer graze on the plains,

there is no more shepherd.

The cows no longer loiter in the pen

there is no more pasture.

The bottom of the sacred canal has run dry,

Now it is fit for the burrows of small animals

The grain which grows in the breeze runs fallow,

There is no more farmer.

Where once the land was tilled diligently

the earth is overgrown

The vineyards and the gardens, which used to nurse pleasure.

Are overrun in thickets of wildflowers

The black loam of the land, once lush.

Is now but cracked clay and dust"

"Everything that I own flees before me, like a flock of sparrows

They have scattered across the sky-

Woe for all the sweet things I've lost!

The sparrows whose songs delight my heart

The winds seperated me from what is best in life

My dearest servants and precious young people were ferried off by the barge-

The winds seperated me from what is best in life

Those innocent girls that I loved,

my dearest slaves are marked with cruel brands in a wicked city.

The most precious of my young people,

are lost wandering in foreign and distant lands."

"Alas, Fair Kharani has been made desolate,

My E-Sirara is desolate.

Zumun, your Eykugbabbarani is desolate,

your worshipers are dead.

There is no place for me, the town is made tragic,

Is there any place for me whatsoever?

Alas, where once my chapel had stood

There is founded a foreign house.

In this foreign house I am a stranger

In my old city a foreign city is founded.

As I am swept off, along with my home

I gaze back tearfully.

As my own city is dragged out of Kharani

I gaze back tearfully

I shriek! I beat my breast in heartache! I rip at my hair!

as if uprooting riverweeds.

I beat at the lamentation drum, I hold it at my chest!

This sorrow overwhelms me!

The Buranuna rushes from my eyes, In tears I utter:

There is no place for me! the town is made tragic!

Is there any place for me whatsoever?

There is no place for Zumun! the town is made tragic!

Is there any place for you whatsoever?

I am Nanshe, My shimmering school has been speared,

devoured in the maw of an evil shark.

Their blood turns the canals red.

I am Nanshe, My E-Sirara is stripped bare,

Is there any place for me whatsoever?

The horizon is not recognizable to me.

Is there any place for me whatsoever?

The halhallatu drum stopped, but the zammartu as Nanshe herself pronounced the gishgingal:

"Alas, my city, alas, my house."

Then the music became different than it had been before. The ebubbu and the pitnu carried a bitter-sweet tune beneath the shaking of the duwahu and the drone of the qarnu. The nargallu led each line of the final kirugu, the zammartu and the kinnaru player joined him to sing the reply.

Lord Zumun himself spoke,

In his luminant voice of wisdom,

"My Lady, how is your heart unbroken!?

How can you go on!?

O Nanshe, how is your heart unruptured!?

How can you go on!?

O Nanshe, your house is desolate,

how is your heart in tact?

The whole city is turned to ruins,

How can you go on!?

The country is smothered under wickedness,

how is your heart still beating!?

Kharani is no longer the city you found familiar,

How can you go on!?

The canal has turned to salt water,

how is your heart of good foundation!?

Your flock has migrated away,

the old roost is a mound of dust.

You can never return to your nest,

Kharani is now a bed of venemous serpents.

How can you care for the lots of a people,

who have been dismembered?

Your tears have become strange tears,

your land no longer weeps.

Noone remembers the rites,

it dwells in foreign lands.

Kharani is a place for ghosts;

How can you go on!?

The E-Sirara is no more,

how is your heart untarnished!

The midnight gales haunt Kharani,

How can you go on!?

Since the age of Bazi,

The age your house was established, O Zumun,

The black-headed people knelt at your feet

and the children of Shumuqan, who frolicked at your ankles,

serenade you in a deluge of weeping.

A final song to remember what was good in life

To warn others of how easily it is taken.

Forever shall the people of the land

remember you in their prayers, in their curiosity

This den of wind and ghosts and other evil things

whistles the funeral melody of The Moon.

Zumun, as you search the abyss for our judgment

May our lot in Irkalla, our lot beneath the tempest

Shine with silver and purity before you.

May the hearts of your people who remember "Kharani"

dashed across the moonlight

Be made pure before you."

The band stopped, and the three singers, the nargallu, zammartu, and kinnaru player, pronounced the final gishgingal:

"Until distant days, other days, future days."