With his bow bent, he has made me the mark for his arrows.
For your arrows have gone into my flesh, and I am crushed under the weight of your hand.
If I have done wrong, what have I done to you, O keeper of men? why have you made me a mark for your blows, so that I am a weariness to myself?
His bow has been bent for the attack, he has taken his place with his hand ready, in his hate he has put to death all who were pleasing to the eye: on the tent of the daughter of Zion he has let loose his passion like fire.
For the arrows of the Ruler of all are present with me, and their poison goes deep into my spirit: his army of fears is put in order against me.