Our skin is black like an oven, Because of the burning heat of famine.
My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.
For I have become like a wineskin in the smoke. I don't forget your statutes.
My flesh and my skin has he made old; he has broken my bones.
Their visage is blacker than a coal; they are not known in the streets: Their skin cleaves to their bones; it is withered, it is become like a stick.