Wicked

Wicked men are found among my people.

They have grown fat.

They are sleek;

Yes,

Houses full of deceit.

They have become great

And grown rich.

Shall I not punish them for this?

They lie in wait

With traps and snares

Catching men

Unawares.

The prophets prophesy falsely

Even though they say;

'As the Lord lives.'

Saying: "it is not He. neither will evil come upon us."

The prophets became wind.

The priest rules by his own power

And my people love it that way.

Softly, Softly,

Gently, gently,

Our Lord will save the day.

The whole nation

Has putrifying sores

If theirs no soundness in them

The Lord will abhore.

Come now beloved

I'll show you the way

Not by their precepts

Seek Me

To be saved.

I am the Lord.

Creator of all.

All knees will bow

All tongues will confess

Nations crushed

They will have no defence.

Then will the ancients arise

His dew on the dust

Enough to revive.