Isn't slavery everyone's condition on earth, our days like those of a hired worker?
Like a slave we pant for a shadow, await our task like a hired worker. nights of toil have been measured out for me.
So I have inherited months of emptiness;
If I lie down and think—When will I get up?— night drags on, and restless thoughts fill me until dawn.
My flesh is covered with worms and crusted earth; my skin hardens and oozes.
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle; they reach their end without hope.
Remember that my life is wind; my eyes won't see pleasure again.
The eye that sees me now will no longer look on me; your eyes will be on me, and I won't exist.
A cloud breaks apart and moves on— like the one who descends to the grave and won't rise,
won't return home again, won't be recognized in town anymore.
But I won't keep quiet; I will speak in the adversity of my spirit, groan in the bitterness of my life.
Am I Sea or the Sea Monster that you place me under guard?
If I say, "My couch will comfort me," my bed will diminish my murmuring.
You scare me with dreams, frighten me with visions.
I would choose strangling and death instead of my bones.
I reject life; I don't want to live long; leave me alone, for my days are empty.
What are human beings, that you exalt them, that you take note of them,
visit them each morning, test them every moment?
Why not look away from me; let me alone until I swallow my spit?
If I sinned, what did I do to you, guardian of people? Why have you made me your target so that I'm a burden to myself?
Why not forgive my sin, overlook my iniquity? Then I would lie down in the dust; you would search hard for me, and I would not exist.