Then Job stood up, tore his robe, shaved his head, fell to the ground, bowed very low,

"He tore me apart when I was at ease; grabbing me by my neck, he shook me to pieces then he really made me his target.

Torn from the security of his home, he is brought before the king of terrors.

"The fatherless are torn from the breast; the poor are taken away as security for a loan.

"While the ground produces food, underneath it is torn up and burning hot,

then let my arm fall from its socket; and may my arm be torn off at the shoulder.