And Desire Shall fail
The belly sickens, but the heart is never full,
because there are a thousand mouths inside our blood.
You cannot fight this needy drag; the self's old pull.
Even champagne when it's attained can become dull —
every desire, when it's fulfilled, becomes a dud.
The belly sickens, but the heart is never full.
What we demand — more things, more love — is pitiful.
Though we are well-off, healthy, sheltered, understood —
we do not fight this needy drag; the self's old pull.
And though sometimes romance can briefly pull the wool,
temptation brings us back to ourselves with a thud.
The belly sickens, but the heart is never full.
The heart's a tyrant that won't tolerate a lull.
Look at our luck: no war, no famine and no flood,
yet there's no one who can resist the self's old pull.
There's no enough that enough days cannot annul,
and though you may be kind, and liberal, and good,
you will not fight this needy drag; the self's old pull.
The belly sickens, but the heart is never full.