“I loathe my own life; I will express my complaint and speak in the bitterness of my soul.

I will say to God: Do not condemn me! Let me know why You prosecute me.

Does it please You to oppress me, to reject the work of Your hands and favor the schemes of the wicked?

Do You have eyes of flesh? Do You see as man sees?

Are Your days like those of a mortal, or Your years like those of a man,

that You should seek my iniquity and search out my sin—

though You know that I am not guilty, and there is no deliverance from Your hand?

Your hands shaped me and altogether formed me. Would You now turn and destroy me?

Please remember that You molded me like clay. Would You now return me to dust?

Did You not pour me out like milk, and curdle me like cheese?

You clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews.

You have granted me life and loving devotion, and Your care has preserved my spirit.

Yet You concealed these things in Your heart, and I know that this was in Your mind:

If I sinned, You would take note, and would not acquit me of my iniquity.

If I am guilty, woe to me! And even if I am righteous, I cannot lift my head. I am full of shame and aware of my affliction.

Should I hold my head high, You would hunt me like a lion, and again display Your power against me.

You produce new witnesses against me and multiply Your anger toward me. Hardships assault me in wave after wave.

Why then did You bring me from the womb? Oh, that I had died, and no eye had seen me!

If only I had never come to be, but had been carried from the womb to the grave.

Are my days not few? Withdraw from me, that I may have a little comfort,

before I go—never to return—to a land of darkness and gloom,

to a land of utter darkness, of deep shadow and disorder, where even the light is like darkness.”