7 “Do not mortals have hard service on earth?
    Are not their days like those of hired laborers?
² Like a slave longing for the evening shadows,
    or a hired laborer waiting to be paid,
³ so I have been allotted months of futility,
    and nights of misery have been assigned to me.
⁴ When I lie down I think, ‘How long before I get up?’
    The night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.
⁵ My body is clothed with worms and scabs,
    my skin is broken and festering.

⁶ “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle,
    and they come to an end without hope.
⁷ Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath;
    my eyes will never see happiness again.