Psalms 10:1-9

GOD, are you avoiding me? Where are you when I need you? Full of hot air, the wicked are hot on the trail of the poor. Trip them up, tangle them up in their fine-tuned plots. The wicked are windbags, the swindlers have foul breath. The wicked snub GOD, their noses stuck high in the air. Their graffiti are scrawled on the walls: “Catch us if you can!” “God is dead.” They care nothing for what you think; if you get in their way, they blow you off. They live (they think) a charmed life: “We can’t go wrong. This is our lucky year!” They carry a mouthful of spells, their tongues spit venom like adders. They hide behind ordinary people, then pounce on their victims. They mark the luckless, then wait like a hunter in a blind; When the poor wretch wanders too close, they stab him in the back.