Psalms 17:8-15

Keep your eye on me; hide me under your cool wing feathers From the wicked who are out to get me, from mortal enemies closing in. Their hearts are hard as nails, their mouths blast hot air. They are after me, nipping my heels, determined to bring me down, Lions ready to rip me apart, young lions poised to pounce. Up, GOD: beard them! break them! By your sword, free me from their clutches; Barehanded, GOD, break these mortals, these flat-earth people who can’t think beyond today. I’d like to see their bellies swollen with famine food, The weeds they’ve sown harvested and baked into famine bread, With second helpings for their children and crusts for their babies to chew on. And me? I plan on looking you full in the face. When I get up, I’ll see your full stature and live heaven on earth.