For we sink down to the dust; our bodies cling to the ground.
Why do you hide your face, and count me as your enemy?
Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
My soul clings to the dust; revive me according to your word.
Wretched and close to death from my youth up, I suffer your terrors; I am desperate.
And I will put it into the hand of your tormentors, who have said to you, “Bow down, that we may walk on you”; and you have made your back like the ground and like the street for them to walk on.
Those who feasted on delicacies perish in the streets; those who were brought up in purple cling to ash heaps.