And now I'm their song; I'm their cliché!
They detest me, keep their distance, don't withhold spit from my face.
Because he loosened my bowstring and afflicted me, they throw off restraint in my presence.
On the right, upstarts rise and target my feet, build their siege ramps against me,
destroy my road, profit from my fall, with no help.
They advance as if through a destroyed wall; they roll along beneath the ruin.
Terrors crash upon me; they sweep away my honor like wind; my safety disappears like a cloud.