3 so I have inherited months of futility, and nights of distress have been appointed to me.
4 When I lay down I say, “When will I rise?” The night drags on, and I toss until the day dawns.
5 My flesh is clothed with maggots and clods of dirt; My skin is broken and festering.
6 My days fly faster than a weaver’s shuttle and come to an end without hope.
7 Remember, my life is but a breath; my eyes will not see goodness again!
8 The eye that sees me now will see me no more; your eyes will be on me, but I will be no more.
9 As a cloud vanishes and is gone, so one descending into Sheol does not come up;