5 My flesh is clothed with rottenness and the filth of dust, my skin is withered and drawn together.
6 My days have passed more swiftly than the web is cut by the weaver, and are consumed without any hope.
7 Remember that my life is but wind, and my eyes shall not return to see good things.
8 Nor shall the sight of man behold me: thy eyes are upon me, and I shall be no more.
9 As a cloud is consumed, and passeth away: so he that shall go down to hell shall not come up.
10 Nor shall he return my more into his house, neither shall his place know him any more.
11 Wherefore I will not spare my month, I will speak in the affliction of my spirit: I will talk with the bitterness of my soul.