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30:1  But now those younger than I mock me, whose fathers I refused to put beside my sheepdogs.
30:2  Their strength, what’s it to me, their energy having perished?
30:3  Stiff from want and hunger, those who gnaw dry ground, yesterday’s desolate waste,
30:4  who pluck off the leaves on a bush, the root of the broom— a shrub is their food.
30:5  People banish them from society, shout at them as if to a thief;
30:6  so they live in scary ravines, holes in the ground and rocks.
30:7  Among shrubs, they make sounds like donkeys; they are huddled together under a bush,
30:8  children of fools and the nameless, whipped out of the land.
30:9  And now I’m their song; I’m their cliché!
30:10  They detest me, keep their distance, don’t withhold spit from my face.
30:11  Because he loosened my bowstring and afflicted me, they throw off restraint in my presence.
30:12  On the right, upstarts rise and target my feet, build their siege ramps against me,
30:13  destroy my road, profit from my fall, with no help.
30:14  They advance as if through a destroyed wall; they roll along beneath the ruin.
30:15  Terrors crash upon me; they sweep away my honor like wind; my safety disappears like a cloud.
30:16  Now my life is poured out on me; days of misery have seized me.
30:17  At night he bores my bones; my gnawing pain won’t rest.
30:18  With great force he grasps my clothing; it binds me like the neck of my shirt.
30:19  He hurls me into mud; I’m a cliché, like dust and ashes.
30:20  I cry to you, and you don’t answer; I stand up, but you just look at me.
30:21  You are cruel to me, attack me with the strength of your hand.
30:22  You lift me to the wind and make me ride; you melt me in its roar.
30:23  I know you will return me to death, the house appointed for all the living.
30:24  Surely he won’t strike someone in ruins if in distress he cries out to him,
30:25  if I didn’t weep for those who have a difficult day or my soul grieve for the needy;
30:26  for I awaited good, but evil came; I expected light, but gloom arrived.
30:27  My insides, churning, are never quiet; days of affliction confront me.
30:28  I walk in the dark, lacking sunshine; I rise in the assembly and cry out.
30:29  I have become a brother to jackals, a companion to young ostriches.
30:30  My skin is charred; my bones are scorched by the heat.
30:31  My lyre is for mourning, my flute, a weeping sound.