The kind one has perished from the earth, and there is no one straight among men. All of them lie in wait for blood, everyone hunts his brother with a net.
But I was like a gentle lamb brought to the slaughter. And I did not know that they had plotted against me, saying, “Let us destroy the tree with its fruit, and let us cut him off from the land of the living, and let his name be remembered no more.”
Their webs do not become garments, nor do they cover themselves with their works. Their works are works of wickedness, and a deed of violence is in their hands.
