My God, my God, must you forsake my days,

When countless nights have heard me weep your name?

Yet you are lifted on a throne of praise

Above this worm deserving only shame.

For though I hoped your hold would not relax,

Like water am I poured upon the dust

My bones disjointed and my heart like wax

Has melted from my shameful loss of trust.

My swollen tongue has dried like pottery

From crying out to you with dusty breath,

For packs of villains have surrounded me

With mockery upon their lips and death.

But if you cast your eye upon me, Lord,

Look not away but save me from the sword!

Dusty Breath (Psalm 22)
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