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May they flow away like rain water that runs off,
    may they become like someone who shoots broken arrows.
May they be like a snail that dries up as it crawls;
    like a woman’s stillborn baby, who never saw the sun.
Before your clay pots are placed on a fire of burning[a] thorns—
    whether green or ablaze—
        wrath will sweep them away like a storm.

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Footnotes

  1. Psalm 58:9 The Heb. lacks a fire of burning

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