Then Bildad the Shuhite replied:
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“How long until you end these speeches?
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Why are we regarded as cattle,
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You who tear yourself in anger—
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Indeed, the lamp of the wicked is extinguished;
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The light in his tent grows dark,
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His vigorous stride is shortened,
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For his own feet lead him into a net,
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A trap seizes his heel;
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A noose is hidden in the ground,
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Terrors frighten him on every side
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His strength is depleted,
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It devours patches of his skin;
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He is torn from the shelter of his tent
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Fire resides in his tent;
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The roots beneath him dry up,
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The memory of him perishes from the earth,
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He is driven from light into darkness
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He has no offspring or posterity among his people,
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Those in the west are appalled at his fate,
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Surely such is the dwelling of the wicked
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