My wife can't stand the smell of my breath, and my own brothers won't come near me.

What strength do I have to keep on living? Why go on living when I have no hope?

Job lived a hundred and forty years after this, long enough to see his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I gave my people life, and I will not continue to accuse them or be angry with them forever.

My only hope is the world of the dead, where I will lie down to sleep in the dark.

I will call the grave my father, and the worms that eat me I will call my mother and my sisters.

So many troubles have fallen on me that I am close to death.

I am abandoned among the dead; I am like the slain lying in their graves, those you have forgotten completely, who are beyond your help.

I thought that in the prime of life I was going to the world of the dead, Never to live out my life.

My life was cut off and ended, Like a tent that is taken down, Like cloth that is cut from a loom. I thought that God was ending my life.

My voice was thin and weak, And I moaned like a dove. My eyes grew tired from looking to heaven. LORD, rescue me from all this trouble.