Our skin is heated like an oven because of our burning heat from need of food.
My skin is black and dropping off me; and my bones are burning with the heat of my disease.
For I have become like a wine-skin black with smoke; but I still keep the memory of your rules.
My flesh and my skin have been used up by him and my bones broken.
Their face is blacker than night; in the streets no one has knowledge of them: their skin is hanging on their bones, they are dry, they have become like wood.