But the wicked are like the storm-tossed sea, for it cannot be still, and its waves churn up mire and muck.
For they cannot sleep unless they do evil; they are deprived of slumber until they make someone fall.
Woe to the wicked; disaster is upon them! For they will be repaid with what their hands have done.
Indeed, the lamp of the wicked is extinguished; the flame of his fire does not glow.
Surely You set them on slick ground; You cast them down into ruin.
These men are hidden reefs in your love feasts, shamelessly feasting with you but shepherding only themselves. They are
The youthful vigor that fills his bones will lie down with him in the dust.
A wicked man writhes in pain all his days; only a few years are reserved for the ruthless.