Edom’s streams will be turned into pitch, her dust into burning sulfur; her land will become blazing pitch!
It will not be quenched night or day; its smoke will rise forever. From generation to generation it will lie desolate; no one will ever pass through it again.
The desert owl and screech owl will possess it; the great owl and the raven will nest there. God will stretch out over Edom the measuring line of chaos and the plumb line of desolation.
Her nobles will have nothing there to be called a kingdom, all her princes will vanish away.