7:2 Like a servant longing for the evening shadow,
and like a hired man looking for his wages,
7:3 thus I have been made to inherit
months of futility,
and nights of sorrow
have been appointed to me.
7:4 If I lie down, I say, ‘When will I arise?’,
and the night stretches on
and I toss and turn restlessly
until the day dawns.
7:5 My body is clothed with worms and dirty scabs;
my skin is broken and festering.
7:6 My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle
and they come to an end without hope.