1Listen and help, O God. I'm reduced to a whine And a whimper, obsessed with feelings of doomsday.
2Don't let them find me - the conspirators out to get me,
3Using their tongues as weapons, flinging poison words, poison-tipped arrow-words.
4They shoot from ambush, shoot without warning, not caring who they hit.
5They keep fit doing calisthenics of evil purpose, They keep lists of the traps they've secretly set. They say to each other, "No one can catch us,
6no one can detect our perfect crime." The Detective detects the mystery in the dark of the cellar heart.
7The God of the Arrow shoots! They double up in pain,
8Fall flat on their faces in full view of the grinning crowd.
9Everyone sees it. God's work is the talk of the town.
10Be glad, good people! Fly to God! Good-hearted people, make praise your habit.