Job begins with a general reflection: a person's life on earth is hard service, like that of the hired worker who waits for his wages and the slave who longs for the shade. He has been given months of emptiness and nights of misery. When he lies down he wonders when it will be morning, and he tosses until dawn. His flesh is clothed with worms and a crust of dust, his skin cracks and oozes. His days run faster than a weaver's shuttle and end without hope.
Now he turns to God: remember that my life is a breath, and my eyes will never again see good. The eye that sees me now will not see me, and as a cloud fades and vanishes, so the one who goes down to the grave does not come up. So he will not restrain his mouth: he will speak in the anguish of his spirit. He asks whether he is the sea or the sea monster that God should set a guard over him. When he thinks his bed will comfort him, God scares him with dreams and terrifies him with visions. He would choose strangling and death over his pains. He asks to be left alone, for his days are a breath.
The chapter closes with a question that echoes another biblical text: what is man, that you make so much of him and set your heart on him, that you examine him every morning and test him every moment? Will you not look away from me? If I have sinned, what have I done to you, you watcher of mankind? Why do you not pardon my transgression and take away my iniquity? Soon I will lie in the dust, and you will seek me, but I will be no more.