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.