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.
Have I asked you to give me a gift or to bribe someone on my behalf
or to save me from some enemy or tyrant?
All right, teach me; tell me my faults. I will be quiet and listen to you.
Honest words are convincing, but you are talking nonsense.