Then from the wicked the light is withheld, and the arm raised in violence is broken.

My body is clothed with worms and dirty scabs; my skin is broken and festering.

how much less a mortal man, who is but a maggot – a son of man, who is only a worm!”

The womb forgets him, the worm feasts on him, no longer will he be remembered. Like a tree, wickedness will be broken down.