He hath worn out my flesh and my skin, hath broken my bones;

Darker than a coal, is their visage, They are not known in the streets - Their skin shrivelleth on their bones, is withered, become like a stick.

From on high, sent he fire, among my bones, and laid them prostrate, - He spread out a net for my feet, he made me turn back, he made me desolate, all the day, faint.