I go about in sunless gloom; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.
I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the congregation and cry for help.
I go mourning without the sun: I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.
I walk in the dark, lacking sunshine; I rise in the assembly and cry out.
I went forth mourning, without anger, and rising up, I cried out in confusion.
I went mourning without indignation; I rose up, and cried in the crowd.
Even when I cry out, ‘Violence!’ I am not answered; I call aloud, but there is no justice.
My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.
I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all day long I go around mourning.
I say to God, my rock, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?”
For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you cast me off? Why must I walk about mournfully because of the oppression of the enemy?