Job begins with a confession: his soul loathes his life. So he will give free utterance to his complaint and speak in the bitterness of his soul. He says to God: do not condemn me; let me know why you contend with me. Does it seem good to you to oppress, to despise the work of your hands and favor the schemes of the wicked? Do you have eyes of flesh, do you see as man sees? Are your days as the days of a mortal, that you seek out my iniquity and search for my sin, although you know that I am not guilty and that there is none to deliver from your hand?
Then Job recalls how he was formed. God's hands fashioned him and shaped him like clay; he poured him out like milk and curdled him like cheese, clothed him with skin and flesh and knit him together with bones and sinews. He granted him life and steadfast love, and his care watched over his spirit. But Job says God hid other things in his heart: if I sin, you watch me and do not acquit me; if I am guilty, woe to me, and if I am righteous I cannot lift my head, sated with disgrace and looking on my affliction. If I lift my head, you hunt me like a lion and again work wonders against me, and bring fresh troops against me.
Then Job asks why God brought him out of the womb: would that he had died and no eye had seen him, and that he had been as though he had not been, carried from womb to grave. Are not my days few? Leave me alone, that I may find a little cheer before I go, never to return, to the land of darkness and deep shadow, the land of gloom like thick darkness, without order, where light is as darkness.