And my body is covered with loathsome worms; and I waste away, scraping off clods of dust from my eruption.

[I am as] that which grows old like a bottle, or like a moth-eaten garment.

You drive him to an end, and he is gone: You set Your face against him, and send him away;

But his flesh is in pain, and his soul mourns.

My flesh is corrupt under my skin, and my bones are held in my teeth.

Because I kept silence, my bones waxed old, from my crying all the day.

For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me; I became thoroughly miserable while a thorn was fastened in [me]. Pause.

You chasten man with rebukes for iniquity, and You make his life to consume away like a spider's web; nay, every man is disquieted in vain. Pause.

For my days have vanished like smoke, and my bones have been parched like a stick.

By reason of the voice of my groaning, my bones has cleaved to my flesh.

And you repent at last, when the flesh of your body is consumed,

My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and My tongue is glued to My throat; and You have brought Me down to the dust of death.

They counted all My bones; and they observed and looked upon Me.