in spite of being right I am counted a liar; my wound is incurable, though I am without transgression.’
his archers surround me. He slashes open my kidneys and shows no mercy; he pours out my gall on the ground.
You say, ‘I am clean, without transgression; I am pure, and there is no iniquity in me.
For the arrows of the Almighty are in me; my spirit drinks their poison; the terrors of God are arrayed against me.
Why is my pain unceasing, my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? Truly, you are to me like a deceitful brook, like waters that fail.