Job 30:1-31 CEB

[1] But now those younger than I mock me, whose fathers I refused to put beside my sheepdogs. [2] Their strength, what’s it to me, their energy having perished? [3] Stiff from want and hunger, those who gnaw dry ground, yesterday’s desolate waste, [4] who pluck off the leaves on a bush, the root of the broom—a shrub is their food. [5] People banish them from society, shout at them as if to a thief; [6] so they live in scary ravines, holes in the ground and rocks. [7] Among shrubs, they make sounds like donkeys; they are huddled together under a bush, [8] children of fools and the nameless, whipped out of the land. [9] And now I’m their song; I’m their cliché! [10] They detest me, keep their distance, don’t withhold spit from my face. [11] Because he loosened my bowstring and afflicted me, they throw off restraint in my presence. [12] On the right, upstarts rise and target my feet, build their siege ramps against me, [13] destroy my road, profit from my fall, with no help. [14] They advance as if through a destroyed wall; they roll along beneath the ruin. [15] Terrors crash upon me; they sweep away my honor like wind; my safety disappears like a cloud. [16] Now my life is poured out on me; days of misery have seized me. [17] At night he bores my bones; my gnawing pain won’t rest. [18] With great force he grasps my clothing; it binds me like the neck of my shirt. [19] He hurls me into mud; I’m a cliché, like dust and ashes. [20] I cry to you, and you don’t answer; I stand up, but you just look at me. [21] You are cruel to me, attack me with the strength of your hand. [22] You lift me to the wind and make me ride; you melt me in its roar. [23] I know you will return me to death, the house appointed for all the living. [24] Surely he won’t strike someone in ruins if in distress he cries out to him, [25] if I didn’t weep for those who have a difficult day or my soul grieve for the needy; [26] for I awaited good, but evil came; I expected light, but gloom arrived. [27] My insides, churning, are never quiet; days of affliction confront me. [28] I walk in the dark, lacking sunshine; I rise in the assembly and cry out. [29] I have become a brother to jackals, a companion to young ostriches. [30] My skin is charred; my bones are scorched by the heat. [31] My lyre is for mourning, my flute, a weeping sound.