What strength do I have to keep on living? Why go on living when I have no hope?
Am I made of stone? Is my body bronze?
I have no strength left to save myself; there is nowhere I can turn for help.
In trouble like this I need loyal friends - whether I've forsaken God or not.
But you, my friends, you deceive me like streams that go dry when no rain comes.
The streams are choked with snow and ice,
but in the heat they disappear, and the stream beds lie bare and dry.
Caravans get lost looking for water; they wander and die in the desert.
Caravans from Sheba and Tema search,
but their hope dies beside dry streams.
You are like those streams to me, you see my fate and draw back in fear.