TSK · Psalms 89:52

I am forgotten from their hearts like a dead man. I am like broken pottery.

I have become a stranger to my brothers, an alien to my mother's children.

Pay back to our neighbors seven times into their bosom their reproach with which they have reproached you, Lord.

For though the fig tree doesn't flourish, nor fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive fails, the fields yield no food; the flocks are cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls:

Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, to God who alone is wise, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.