When I lie down, I say, ‘When shall I arise?’ But the night continues, And I am continually tossing until dawn.
My flesh is clothed with maggots and a crust of dirt, My skin hardens and oozes.
My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, And they come to an end without hope.
'Remember that my life is a mere
breath; My eye will not see goodness again.
The eye of him who sees me will no longer
look at me; Your eyes will be
on me, but I will not exist.
When a cloud vanishes, it is gone; In the same way one who goes down to Sheol does not come up.
He will not return to his house again, Nor will his place know about him anymore.