All these troubles would still be like grit in my gut since it's clear you're not going to let up.
The verdict has already been handed down - 'Guilty!' - so what's the use of protests or appeals?
Even if I scrub myself all over and wash myself with the strongest soap I can find,
It wouldn't last - you'd push me into a pigpen, or worse, so nobody could stand me for the stink.
"God and I are not equals; I can't bring a case against him. We'll never enter a courtroom as peers.
How I wish we had an arbitrator to step in and let me get on with life -
To break God's death grip on me, to free me from this terror so I could breathe again.
Then I'd speak up and state my case boldly. As things stand, there is no way I can do it.