My soul is tired of life; I will let my sad thoughts go free in words; my soul will make a bitter outcry.
I will say to God, Do not put me down as a sinner; make clear to me what you have against me.
What profit is it to you to be cruel, to give up the work of your hands, looking kindly on the design of evil-doers?
Have you eyes of flesh, or do you see as man sees?
Are your days as the days of man, or your years like his,
That you take note of my sin, searching after my wrongdoing,