should I lie against my right? My wound cannot be cured; I am without rebellion.
For the arrows of the Almighty are within me, their fury is drinking my spirit; the terrors of God are set against me.
His archers hem me in; He splits my inward parts, and does not spare; He pours out my gall on the ground.
Why has my pain been without end, and why is my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? You surely are to me like a deceitful brook, waters that cannot be trusted.
You said, I am pure, without transgression; I am innocent, and no iniquity is in me;