“What did I do to deserve this?
Did I ever hit anyone who was calling for help?
Haven’t I wept for those who live a hard life,
been heartsick over the lot of the poor?
But where did it get me?
I expected good but evil showed up.
I looked for light but darkness fell.
My stomach’s in a constant churning, never settles down.
Each day confronts me with more suffering.
I walk under a black cloud. The sun is gone.
I stand in the congregation and protest.
I howl with the jackals,
I hoot with the owls.
I’m black-and-blue all over,
burning up with fever.
My fiddle plays nothing but the blues;
my mouth harp wails laments.”