Psalms 10:1-11

GOD, are you avoiding me? Where are you when I need you? Full of hot air, the wicked are hot on the trail of the poor. Trip them up, tangle them up in their fine-tuned plots. The wicked are windbags, the swindlers have foul breath. The wicked snub GOD, their noses stuck high in the air. Their graffiti are scrawled on the walls: “Catch us if you can!” “God is dead.” They care nothing for what you think; if you get in their way, they blow you off. They live (they think) a charmed life: “We can’t go wrong. This is our lucky year!” They carry a mouthful of spells, their tongues spit venom like adders. They hide behind ordinary people, then pounce on their victims. They mark the luckless, then wait like a hunter in a blind; When the poor wretch wanders too close, they stab him in the back. The hapless fool is kicked to the ground, the unlucky victim is brutally axed. He thinks God has dumped him, he’s sure that God is indifferent to his plight.