My bowels, my bowels! I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me; I cannot hold my peace, because thou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war.
Destruction upon destruction is cried; for the whole land is spoiled: suddenly are my tents spoiled, and my curtains in a moment.
The first verse is self-evidently appropriate, but I can vouch that there was a point about 3am on that apocalyptic night when the chintz might well have been at risk also.
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