Psalm 12 (Rhyming)

Help, Existing One: saints cease to exist,
Godly people’s songs no longer persist.
Man's words are empty to one another,
They only want to smooth-talk each other.
May the Lord cut off their flattering lips,
Tongues claiming big things are what the Lord snips.
Men think that their words lift them to the top:
“We speak how we want; no one makes us stop.”

God says: “because the oppressed agonize,
I'll give them safety, tending to their cries.”

The Lord’s words are pure—purity untold,
More pure then silver refined sevenfold.
Oh Existing One, you will protect them,
Watch over them and never neglect them.
Everywhere I look, wicked strut around,
Worthlessness is the thing that’s most renowned.