What is language? Where does it come from and what does it want (from us)?

I, Zechariah Broken are the stones, torn is the curtain, charred is the timber. Rain sings in the gutters, and on unpinned hinges the gates swing free. How the city has fallen! How the angels have vanished! Bereft is the land, desolate the earth, emptied of those faithful to the Lord. Bright were their faces; sweet were their songs of sacrifice. Who now gathers on the Mount? Only the dead, marked by war and plague, scarred by flood and drought.