Though he heaps up silver like dust1 and clothes like piles of clay,217
what he lays up3 the righteous will wear,4 and the innocent will divide his silver.518
The house6 he builds is like a moth's cocoon,7 like a hut8 made by a watchman.
He lies down wealthy, but will do so no more;9 when he opens his eyes, all is gone.1020
Terrors11 overtake him like a flood;12 a tempest snatches him away in the night.1321
The east wind14 carries him off, and he is gone;15 it sweeps him out of his place.1622
It hurls itself against him without mercy17 as he flees headlong18 from its power.1923
It claps its hands20 in derision and hisses him out of his place.21