Treasury of Scripture Knowledge
My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue clings to my jaws, and thou have brought me into the dust of death.
In the morning it flourishes, and grows up. In the evening it is cut down, and withers.
For my days consume away like smoke, and my bones are burned as a firebrand.
My skin is black, [and falls] from me. And my bones are burned with heat.
Their visage is blacker than a coal. They are not known in the streets. Their skin clings to their bones. It is withered. It has become like a stick.
Our skin is black like an oven, because of the burning heat of famine.