Our skin is hot as an oven, feverish from hunger.
My skin grows black and peels; my body burns with fever.
Though I am like a wineskin in the smoke, I do not forget your decrees.
He has made my skin and my flesh grow old and has broken my bones.
But now they are blacker than soot; they are not recognized in the streets. Their skin has shriveled on their bones; it has become as dry as a stick.