When my movement show heavy with sin.

God has made mine to be vanity,
and double thought.
He has made my inheritance the worm.
He has made my way the way of the servant,
and the servants horse.
Will I be delivered from the judge?
Will the warm mirror grow?
Or will I be cut off and left to stare into the recursiveness
of my iniquity? I know that I will be delivered, and you are my rock.
Let not the hope of my day be in vain.
Have mercy on the wicked
I am lost and I cry in the wilderness.