Job answers that he has heard many such things: miserable comforters are you all. Will windy words have no end? If they were in his place, he too could speak as they do, heap up words against them and shake his head. But he would strengthen them with his mouth, and the comfort of his lips would ease their pain. Whether he speaks or is silent, his pain is not lessened.
Then he describes what God has done to him. God has worn him out, made desolate all his company, shriveled him up and made him a witness against himself; his gauntness rises up against him and testifies to his face. God tears him in his wrath and hunts him down, gnashes his teeth at him, and his adversary sharpens his eyes. People open their mouths against Job, strike him on the cheek in contempt and gather together against him. God gives him up to the ungodly and casts him into the hands of the wicked. He was at ease and God broke him apart, seized him by the neck and dashed him to pieces, and set him up as his target. His archers surround him and pierce his kidneys without mercy. He breaks him with breach upon breach and runs at him like a warrior. Job has sewn sackcloth over his skin and thrust his horn in the dust; his face is red with weeping and deep darkness is on his eyelids, although there is no violence in his hands and his prayer is pure.
Then he cries out: O earth, do not cover my blood, and let my cry find no resting place. Even now my witness is in heaven, and he who testifies for me is on high. My friends scorn me, but my eye pours out tears to God. Oh that someone would plead for a man with God, as a person pleads for his neighbor. For when a few years have come I shall go the way from which I shall not return.