The end of my life is near. I can hardly breathe; there is nothing left for me but the grave.
I watch how bitterly everyone mocks me.
I am being honest, God. Accept my word. There is no one else to support what I say.
You have closed their minds to reason; don't let them triumph over me now.
In the old proverb someone betrays his friends for money, and his children suffer for it.
And now people use this proverb against me; they come and spit in my face.
My grief has almost made me blind; my arms and legs are as thin as shadows.
Those who claim to be honest are shocked, and they all condemn me as godless.
Those who claim to be respectable are more and more convinced they are right.
But if all of them came and stood before me, I would not find even one of them wise.
My days have passed; my plans have failed; my hope is gone.
But my friends say night is daylight; they say that light is near, but I know I remain in darkness.
My only hope is the world of the dead, where I will lie down to sleep in the dark.
I will call the grave my father, and the worms that eat me I will call my mother and my sisters.
Where is there any hope for me? Who sees any?
Hope will not go with me when I go down to the world of the dead.