Job 7

Aren’t his days like the days of a hired hand?

as a hireling who looks for his wages,

wearisome nights are appointed to me.

I toss and turn until the dawning of the day.

My skin closes up, and breaks out afresh.

and are spent without hope.

My eye will no more see good.

Your eyes will be on me, but I will not be.

so he who goes down to Sheol will come up no more.

neither will his place know him any more.

I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.

that you put a guard over me?

My couch will ease my complaint;’

and terrify me through visions:

death rather than my bones.

Leave me alone, for my days are but a breath.

that you should set your mind on him,

and test him every moment?

nor leave me alone until I swallow down my spittle?

so that I am a burden to myself?

You will seek me diligently, but I will not be.”