Have I not wept for those in trouble?1 Has not my soul grieved for the poor?226
Yet when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, then came darkness.327
The churning inside me never stops;4 days of suffering confront me.528
I go about blackened,6 but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.729
I have become a brother of jackals,8 a companion of owls.930
My skin grows black10 and peels;11 my body burns with fever.1231
My harp is tuned to mourning,13 and my flute14 to the sound of wailing.