7 Isn’t slavery everyone’s condition on earth,
    our days like those of a hired worker?
²         Like a slave we pant for a shadow,
            await our task like a hired worker.
³ So I have inherited months of emptiness;
    nights of toil have been measured out for me.
⁴ If I lie down and think—When will I get up?—
    night drags on,^[a] and restless thoughts fill me until dawn.
⁵ My flesh is covered with worms and crusted earth;
    my skin hardens and oozes.
⁶ My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle;
    they reach their end without hope.^[b]
7 Remember that my life is wind;
    my eyes won’t see pleasure again.
⁸ The eye that sees me now will no longer look on me;
    your eyes will be on me, and I won’t exist.
⁹ A cloud breaks apart and moves on—
    like the one who descends to the grave^[c] and won’t rise,
¹⁰         won’t return home again,
        won’t be recognized in town anymore.

¹¹ But I won’t keep quiet;
    I will speak in the adversity of my spirit,
    groan in the bitterness of my life.
¹² Am I Sea^[d] or the Sea Monster^[e]
    that you place me under guard?
¹³ If I say, “My couch will comfort me,”
    my bed will diminish my murmuring.
¹⁴ You scare me with dreams,
    frighten me with visions.
¹⁵ I would choose strangling
    and death instead of my bones.
¹⁶ I reject life;^[f] I don’t want to live long;
    leave me alone, for my days are empty.

¹⁷ What are human beings, that you exalt them,
    that you take note of them,
¹⁸     visit them each morning,
    test them every moment?
¹⁹ Why not look away from me;
    let me alone until I swallow my spit?
²⁰ If I sinned, what did I do to you,
    guardian of people?
Why have you made me your target
    so that I’m a burden to myself?
²¹ Why not forgive my sin,
    overlook my iniquity?
Then I would lie down in the dust;
    you would search hard for me,
    and I would not exist.