By the rivers of Bavel, there we sat down. Yes, we wept, when we remembered Tziyon.
On the willows in the midst of it, We hung up our harps.
For there, those who led us captive asked us for songs. Those who tormented us demanded songs of joy: "Sing us one of the songs of Tziyon!"
How can we sing the LORD's song in a foreign land?
If I forget you, Yerushalayim, Let my right hand forget its skill.
Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, If I don't remember you; If I don't prefer Yerushalayim above my chief joy.