He has buried me in a dark place, like those long dead.
My enemy has chased me. He has knocked me to the ground and forces me to live in darkness like those in the grave.
Come quickly, Lord, and answer me, for my depression deepens. Don’t turn away from me, or I will die.
We grope like the blind along a wall, feeling our way like people without eyes. Even at brightest noontime, we stumble as though it were dark. Among the living, we are like the dead.