The Afflictions of the Wicked are Continual

A wicked man writhes in pain all his days; only a few years are reserved for the ruthless.

Indeed, all his days are filled with grief, and his task is sorrowful; even at night, his mind does not rest. This too is futile.

In a little more than a year you will tremble, O secure ones. For the grape harvest will fail and the fruit harvest will not arrive.