For my loins are filled with burning; And there is no soundness in my flesh.
For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: And there is no soundness in my flesh.
For my loins are filled with burning; and there is no soundness in my flesh.
My insides are burning up; there’s nothing in my body that isn’t broken.
So then, truly man passes by like an image; even so, he is disquieted in vain. He stores up, and he knows not for whom he will gather these things.
Surely man passeth as an image: yea, and he is disquieted in vain. He storeth up: and he knoweth not for whom he shall gather these things.