My spirit being destroyed my days were extinct; the graves are for me.
When years of number shall come, and the way I shall go I shall not turn back
My days passed away, my purposes were broken; the possessions of my heart
My spirit was loathsome to my wife, and I entreated to the sons of my belly.
And Job will live after this a hundred and forty years, and he will see his sons, and his sons' sons, four generations.
For what my strength that I shall wait and what my end, that I shall prolong my soul?
My days were swift above a weaver's shuttle, and will finish with no more of hope.
For not forever will I contend, and not to everlasting will I be angry: for the spirit will faint from before me, and the lives I made.