1. O son of war, you have clothed me in a worn-out garment,
Filled with the company of time and turned rigid.

2. It would suffice that the spider's web were woven
To the weakness of your worn-out garment as a patch.

3. If I breathe in it, it splits into pieces,
Or if I sneeze in it, it falls apart in shreds.

4. Its swaying back and forth to patching has been so prolonged
That if we sent it alone, it would collapse.