My lyre is used for mourning
and my flute for the sound of weeping.

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But now they mock me,
men younger than I am,
whose fathers I would have refused to put
with my sheep dogs.

I have become a brother to jackals
and a companion of ostriches.

My skin blackens and flakes off,
and my bones burn with fever.

They plucked mallow among the shrubs,
and the roots of the broom tree were their food.

Yes, I know that You will lead me to death—
the place appointed for all who live.

Now I am mocked by their songs;
I have become an object of scorn to them.

I cry out to You for help, but You do not answer me;
when I stand up, You merely look at me.

Terrors are turned loose against me;
they chase my dignity away like the wind,
and my prosperity has passed by like a cloud.

Have I not wept for those who have fallen on hard times?
Has my soul not grieved for the needy?

Emaciated from poverty and hunger,
they gnawed the dry land,
the desolate wasteland by night.

They despise me and keep their distance from me;
they do not hesitate to spit in my face.

What use to me was the strength of their hands?
Their vigor had left them.

Foolish men, without even a name.
They were forced to leave the land.

Now my life is poured out before my eyes,
and days of suffering have seized me.

You have turned against me with cruelty;
You harass me with Your strong hand.

But when I hoped for good, evil came;
when I looked for light, darkness came.

Because God has loosened my bowstring and oppressed me,
they have cast off restraint in my presence.

I walk about blackened, but not by the sun.
I stood in the assembly and cried out for help.

The rabble rise up at my right;
they trap my feet
and construct their siege ramp against me.

Night pierces my bones,
but my gnawing pains never rest.

They bray among the shrubs;
they huddle beneath the thistles.

They are living on the slopes of the wadis,
among the rocks and in holes in the ground.

You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it;
You scatter me in the storm.

He throws me into the mud,
and I have become like dust and ashes.

I am churning within and cannot rest;
days of suffering confront me.

They tear up my path;
they contribute to my destruction,
without anyone to help them.

They were expelled from human society;
people shouted at them as if they were thieves.

My clothing is distorted with great force;
He chokes me by the neck of my garment.

Yet no one would stretch out his hand
against a ruined man
when he cries out to him for help
because of his distress.

They advance as through a gaping breach;
they keep rolling in through the ruins.