7 Human life is like forced army service,
    like a life of hard manual labor,
²     like a slave longing for cool shade;
    like a worker waiting to be paid.
³ Month after month I have nothing to live for;
    night after night brings me grief.
⁴ When I lie down to sleep, the hours drag;
    I toss all night and long for dawn.

⁶ My days pass by without hope,
    pass faster than a weaver's shuttle.^[a]