Oh, that my grief were actually weighed, all of it were lifted up in scales;
for now it's heavier than the sands of the sea; therefore, my words are rash.
The Almighty's arrows are in me; my spirit drinks their poison, and God's terrors are arrayed against me.
Does a donkey bray over grass or an ox bellow over its fodder?
Is tasteless food eaten without salt, or does egg white have taste?
I refuse to touch them; they resemble food for the sick.