I am weary of my life, and will let myself express my sorrow. Due to mental distress, I have to speak.

Tell God, do not condemn me. Teach me why you argue with me.

What your hands have made, you oppress and despise, yet shine upon the schemes of the wicked. Do you think this is beautiful?

Are your eyes the naked eye, and do you see as a person does?

Are your days like human days, and your years like human years.

Ask after my sins, and search for my sins?

Actually, you know I have no sin, and there is no one who can save me from your hands.

Your hands have created me, created my limbs and bodies, and you will destroy me.

Remember that you made me like clay, will you still bring me back to dust?

Aren’t you pouring me out like milk, making me curdle like milk cakes?

You clothe me with skin and flesh, and connect me all with bones and tendons.

You have given me life and love, and you have also taken care of and preserved my soul.

However, these things you have treated me have long been hidden in your heart, and I know you have had this intention for a long time.

If I sin, then examine me and do not forgive my sins.

If I do evil, I will be in trouble. If I were righteous, I would not dare to look up. It is with a heart full of shame that I see my suffering.

If I hold my head high and feel proud, then you will pursue me like a lion and show me extraordinary abilities.

You have re established your witness against me, increasing your anger towards me like a changing army attacking me.

Why did you give me birth? It’s better for me to be breathless at that time and no one to see me.

In this way, as if without me, as soon as the mother was born, she was sent to the grave.

Aren’t my days very few? Please stop and forgive me, so that before I go and never return, I may go to the darkness and the shadow of death, so that I may have a little pleasure.

That place is very dark, a place of death and chaos. The light there seems to be dim.