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Hunger, child, hunger is the purest taste of life and nothing clears the mind, I say like what's twixt fork and knife and I've a hunger in my core like fire in the fields it eats the weeds, it burns the leaves devours seeds and all. Desire, yes, desire is the meal that I would spread beneath my hand both day and night till I am more than fed. But strange to say, when there is more than I could hope to taste I find my conscience wrung with guilt o'r such an awful waste. |