1 Isn’t mankind consigned to forced labor on earth?Are not his days like those of a hired hand?
2 Like a slave he longs for shade;like a hired man he waits for his pay.
3 So I have been made to inherit months of futility,and troubled nights have been assigned to me.
4 When I lie down I think:When will I get up?But the evening drags on endlessly,and I toss and turn until dawn.
5 My flesh is clothed with maggots and encrusted with dirt. My skin forms scabs and then oozes.
6 My days pass more swiftly than a weaver’s shuttle;they come to an end without hope.
7 Remember that my life is but a breath.My eye will never again see anything good.