1. O Lord, I complain to You of a gang
Whose tongues for me are venomous stings.

2. Their tyranny has encompassed lands;
They are, vis-à-vis corruption, Gog and Magog.

3. They are the plague of my heart while You are
More able to assuage the flames that sear my breast.

4. On every feast day they prepare for me
A dish of my ancestors' shredded arms and legs,

5. Along with loaves on which their faces resemble
Black, faded, withered, wretched flatbreads.

6. These are brought in to me by a servant of theirs,
An old, hunchbacked, bandylegged black man.

7. I swear, if I sold him and his crew
I'd not fetch from the bunch one measly coin.