All his days the wicked man suffers torment, the ruthless man through all the years stored up for him.
Terrifying sounds fill his ears; when all seems well, marauders attack him.
He despairs of escaping the realm of darkness; he is marked for the sword.
He wanders about for food like a vulture; he knows the day of darkness is at hand.
Distress and anguish fill him with terror; troubles overwhelm him, like a king poised to attack,
because he shakes his fist at God and vaunts himself against the Almighty,
defiantly charging against him with a thick, strong shield.
“Though his face is covered with fat and his waist bulges with flesh,
he will inhabit ruined towns and houses where no one lives, houses crumbling to rubble.
He will no longer be rich and his wealth will not endure, nor will his possessions spread over the land.
He will not escape the darkness; a flame will wither his shoots, and the breath of God’s mouth will carry him away.
Let him not deceive himself by trusting what is worthless, for he will get nothing in return.
Before his time he will wither, and his branches will not flourish.
He will be like a vine stripped of its unripe grapes, like an olive tree shedding its blossoms.
For the company of the godless will be barren, and fire will consume the tents of those who love bribes.
They conceive trouble and give birth to evil; their womb fashions deceit.”