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Let them run off like the waters of a flood,
    and though they aim their arrows, let them fly without their heads.
Let them melt like a snail that oozes along;
    may they be like a stillborn that never catches its first breath, never sees the sun.
Before your cook pots know the furious flame of a fire of thorns—
    whether green or burning—He will blow the wicked away.

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