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.