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Finally Job broke the silence and cursed the day on which he had been born.
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O God, put a curse on the day I was born;
2 put a curse on the night when I was conceived!
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Turn that day into darkness, God. Never again remember that day; never again let light shine on it.
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Make it a day of gloom and thick darkness; cover it with clouds, and blot out the sun.
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Blot that night out of the year, and never let it be counted again;
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make it a barren, joyless night.
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Tell the sorcerers to curse that day, those who know how to control Leviathan.
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Keep the morning star from shining; give that night no hope of dawn.
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Curse that night for letting me be born, for exposing me to trouble and grief.
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I wish I had died in my mother's womb or died the moment I was born.