Say to Utu my lord: [...] this is what Sîn-iddinam, king of Larsa, your servant, says: Distress has been caused in your city Larsa, which you have chosen in your heart. The broad squares where days have been passed in merriment have been reduced to silence. Your commendable troops who were assembled have been annihilated like reeds from a reed fence splitting apart. Your young men have been harvested like barley at the due time; they have been picked and have been plucked like ripened fruit. The people have been smashed like terracotta figurines; they have perished all together. An evil storm took away the little ones from the laps of their mothers. [...] I serve the great gods daily with prayers, and my fervent entreaties are sublime. O youthful Utu, for that reason look favourably upon your city Larsa! Say "Alas!" for your city! Say "Alas for the sanctuary!"! Extend sympathetic compassion to Larsa! [...] So that may escape the clutches of death. May its seed be great! May sing your praises!