Our skin is black like an oven, Because of the burning heat of famine.
Their visage is blacker than a coal; they are not known in the streets: Their skin cleaveth to their bones; it is withered, it is become like a stick.
My skin is black, and falleth from me, And my bones are burned with heat.
For I am become like a wine-skin in the smoke; Yet do I not forget thy statutes.
My flesh and my skin hath he made old; he hath broken my bones.