Lamentations 4:18
They hunt our steps, that we cannot go in our streets: our end is near, our days are fulfilled; for our end is come.
More from Lamentations 4
How is the gold become dim! how is the most fine gold changed! the stones of the sanctuary are poured out in the top of every street.
The precious sons of Zion, comparable to fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter!
Even the sea monsters draw out the breast, they give suck to their young ones: the daughter of my people is become cruel, like the ostriches in the wilderness.
The tongue of the sucking child cleaveth to the roof of his mouth for thirst: the young children ask bread, and no man breaketh
They that did feed delicately are desolate in the streets: they that were brought up in scarlet embrace dunghills.