When the mountains see you, they shake. The torrential downpour sweeps through. ¹  The great deep ²  shouts out; it lifts its hands high. ³ 

How long, Lord, must I cry for help? But you do not listen! I call out to you, “Violence!” But you do not intervene! ¹ 

I listened and my stomach churned; ¹  the sound made my lips quiver. My frame went limp, as if my bones were decaying, ²  and I shook as I tried to walk. ³  I long ⁴  for the day of distress to come upon ⁵  the people who attack us.

What good ¹  is an idol? Why would a craftsman make it? ²  What good is a metal image that gives misleading oracles? ³  Why would its creator place his trust in it ⁴  and make ⁵  such mute, worthless things?