Job 7:1-10

Isn’t each person consigned to forced labor  on earth? Are not his days like those of a hired worker? Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hired worker he waits for his pay. So I have been made to inherit months of futility, and troubled nights have been assigned to me.  When I lie down I think, “When will I get up? ” But the evening drags on endlessly, and I toss and turn until dawn. My flesh is clothed with maggots and encrusted with dirt.  My skin forms scabs  and then oozes.  My days pass more swiftly than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.  Remember that my life is but a breath. My eye will never again see anything good.  The eye of anyone who looks on me will no longer see me. Your eyes will look for me, but I will be gone.  As a cloud fades away and vanishes, so the one who goes down to Sheol  will never rise again. He will never return to his house; his hometown will no longer remember   him.