Notenschrift
Psalm 22 vers 6
Dried like a potsherd, all my strength is gone;
my tongue sticks to my palate as I moan,
and in the dust of death you lay me down.
Dogs here surround me.
I’m skin and bones, and gloating foes are staring;
they’ve pierced my hands and feet, no cruelty sparing,
and they divide the garments I was wearing
by casting lots.
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