Job.
Chapter 30.
But now people much younger than me laugh at me; people whose fathers I would not put to work with my sheepdogs. 
They are too weak to be any use to me; they're all worn-out. 
Thin through hunger and want, they try to eat the dry ground in the dark, desolate wilderness. 
There they pick desert herbs and the leaves of bushes, and eat the roots of broom trees. 
They were driven out of the community. 
People shouted after them as if they were thieves. They have to live in dangerous ravines, in caves and among the rocks. 
They shout out like animals among the bushes; they huddle together in the weeds for shelter. 
They are foolish, nameless people that have been driven from the land. 
Yet now they mock me in their songs; I have become a joke to them! 
They despise and shun me; they don't hesitate to spit in my face. 
God has made my bowstring loose and humbled me. 
The rabble rise up against me, they send me running; like a city under siege they devise ways to destroy me. 
They cut off my way of escape; they bring about my downfall and do this without anyone's help. 
They come in through a wide breach; they rush in as the wall comes tumbling down. 
Terrors overcome me; my honor is blown away by the wind; my salvation vanishes like a cloud. 
And now my life is ebbing away; every day despair grips me. 
At night my bones are in agony; the pain gnaws at me and never stops. 
God grabs me roughly by my clothes; he pulls me by the collar of my shirt. 
He has thrown me in the mud; he has humbled me like dust and ashes. 
God, I cry to you but you don't answer; I stand before you, but you don't even notice me. 
You have turned cruel to me; you use your power to make me suffer. 
You pick me up and blow me along in the wind; tossing me about in the whirlwind. 
I know you're taking me to my death, to the place where all the living go. 
Who would want to kick a man when he is down, when they cry for help in their time of trouble? 
Didn't I weep for those having hard times? Didn't I grieve at what the poor suffered? 
But when I looked for good, only evil came, and when I waited for the light, all that came was darkness. 
Inside I am in turmoil, it never stops; I face days of despair. 
I am so depressed; seeing the sun doesn't help. I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. 
I am like a brother to the jackals, a companion to owls. 
My skin turns black on me; and my bones burn within me. 
My lyre only plays sad songs, and my pipe is the voice of those who weep. 
