My hopes have died, my time is up, and the grave is ready.
Because in only a few years, I will be dead and gone.
My life is drawing to an end; hope has disappeared.
My breath disgusts my wife; everyone in my family turns away.
Job lived for another one hundred and forty years—long enough to see his great-grandchildren have children of their own—
Why should I patiently hope when my strength is gone?
and my days are running out quicker than the thread of a fast-moving needle.
My people, I won't stay angry and keep on accusing you. After all, I am your Creator. I don't want you to give up in complete despair.