“Here’s the rule: The light of the wicked is put out.Their flame dies down and is extinguished.Their house goes dark—every lamp in the place goes out.Their strong strides weaken, falter;they stumble into their own traps.They get all tangled upin their own red tape,Their feet are grabbed and caught,their necks in a noose.They trip on ropes they’ve hidden,and fall into pits they’ve dug themselves.Terrors come at them from all sides.They run helter-skelter.The hungry grave is readyto gobble them up for supper,To lay them out for a gourmet meal,a treat for ravenous Death.They are snatched from their home sweet homeand marched straight to the death house.Their lives go up in smoke;acid rain soaks their ruins.Their roots rotand their branches wither.They’ll never again be remembered—nameless in unmarked graves.They are plunged from light into darkness,banished from the world.And they leave empty-handed—not one single child—nothing to show for their life on this earth.Westerners are aghast at their fate,easterners are horrified:‘Oh no! So this is what happens to perverse people.This is how the God-ignorant end up!’”