3 So am I made to possess months of misery, Wearisome nights are appointed to me.
4 When I lie down, I say, 'When shall I arise, and the night be gone?' I toss and turn until the dawning of the day.
5 My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust. My skin closes up, and breaks out afresh.
6 My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, And are spent without hope.
7 Oh remember that my life is a breath. My eye shall no more see good.
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