7 “Isn’t a mortal’s stay on earth difficult
like a hired hand’s daily ⌞work⌟?
² Like a slave, he longs for shade.
Like a hired hand, he eagerly looks for his pay.
³ Likewise, I have been given months that are of no use,
and I have inherited nights filled with misery.
⁴ When I lie down, I ask,
‘When will I get up?’
But the evening is long,
and I’m exhausted from tossing about until dawn.
⁵ My body is covered with maggots and scabs.
My skin is crusted over with sores; then they ooze.
⁶ My days go swifter than a weaver’s shuttle.
They are spent without hope.
⁷ Remember, my life is only a breath,
and never again will my eyes see anything good.
⁸ The eye that watches over me will no longer see me.
Your eye will look for me, but I’ll be gone.
⁹ As a cloud fades away and disappears,
so a person goes into the grave and doesn’t come back again.
¹⁰ He doesn’t come back home again,
and his household doesn’t recognize him anymore.
¹¹ So I won’t keep my mouth shut,
but I will speak from the distress that is in my spirit
and complain about the bitterness in my soul.

¹² “Am I the sea or a sea monster
that you have set a guard over me?
¹³ When I say,
‘My couch may give me comfort.
My bed may help me bear my pain,’
¹⁴ then you frighten me with dreams
and terrify me with visions.
¹⁵ My throat would rather be choked.
My body ^[a] would prefer death ⌞to these dreams⌟.
¹⁶ I hate my life; I do not want to live forever.
Leave me alone because my days are so brief.