When I say, ‘My bed will comfort me, my couch will ease my complaint,’
I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping.
You hold my eyelids open; I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
If I say, ‘I will forget my complaint, I will put off my sad face, and be of good cheer,’ I become afraid of all my suffering, for I know you will not hold me innocent.
so I am allotted months of emptiness, and nights of misery are apportioned to me. When I lie down I say, ‘When shall I arise?’ But the night is long, and I am full of tossing till the dawn.
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