Psalm 88 The darkest despair of the Psalter.  No one is left but God.  And will God work marvels for the dead?

Save me, Lord my God!
By day, by night, I cry out.
Let my prayer reach you;
turn, listen to me.

I am steeped in trouble,
ready for the grave.
I am like one destined for the pit,
a warrior deprived of strength,
forgotten among the dead,
buried with the slaughtered
for whom you care no more.

You tossed me to the bottom of the pit,
into its murkey darkness,
your anger pulled me down
like roaring waves.

You took my friends away,
disgraced me before them.
Trapped here with no escape,
I cannot see beyond my pain.

Lord, I cry out to you all day,
my hands keep reaching out.
Do you work marvels for the dead?
Can shadows rise and sing praise?

But I cry out to you, God,
each morning I plead with you.
Why do you reject me, Lord?
Why do you hide your face?

Weak since childhood,
I am often close to death.
Your torments track me down,
your rage consumes me,
your trials destroy me.

All day, they flood around me,
pressing down, closing me in.
You took my friends from me,
darkness is all I have left.

International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. The Psalter (Chicago , IL: Archdiocese of Chicatio: Liturgy Training Publications 1995)