Job 7

Does not a mortal have hard service on earth?
Are not his days like those of a hired worker? Like a slave who longs for shade, like a hired worker who waits for his wages, so I have been allotted months of emptiness, and nights of trouble have been assigned to me. When I lie down, I say, ‘When will I get up?’ The night drags on, and I am weary with tossing until dawn. My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust;
my skin hardens and oozes. My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they end without hope. Remember that my life is a breath;
my eye will never again see good. The eye that sees me will see me no more;
your eyes will be on me, but I will be gone. As a cloud fades and passes away, so one who goes down to Sheol will not come up. He will not return again to his house, and his place will recognize him no more. I too will not restrain my mouth;
I will speak in the anguish of my spirit;
I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. Am I the sea, or a sea monster, that you set a guard over me? When I say, ‘My bed will comfort me, my couch will ease my complaint,’ then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions. So my soul would choose strangling, death rather than these bones of mine. I loathe it;
I will not live forever.
Leave me alone, for my days are a breath. What is a mortal, that you make so much of him, that you set your heart on him, that you examine him every morning and test him every moment? How long before you look away from me?
Will you not leave me alone long enough to swallow my saliva? If I have sinned, what have I done to you, Watcher of humankind?
Why have you made me your target, so that I have become a burden to myself? Why do you not forgive my transgression and take away my iniquity?
For soon I will lie down in the dust;
you will seek me, but I will be gone.”

Rights and attribution