Should I lie against my right? my wound is incurable without transgression.
His archers compass me round about, he splits my reins asunder, and does not spare; he pours out my gall on the ground.
I am clean without transgression, I am innocent; neither is there iniquity in me.
For the arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinks up my spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
Why is my pain perpetual, and my wound incurable, which refuses to be healed? will you be altogether to me as a liar, and as waters that fail?