We are born desiring, wanting;
Seldom does that really change.
Though our scenery may vary —
Furniture we’ll rearrange —
Never does the longing leave us,
Nor our restless hearts feel full:
Everyday the pushing, tugging,
Every breath, the constant pull
Of a striving deep within us.
Reaching for, and reaching past
Every happy thing around us
For some other that will last.
Though the morning sits to greet us,
Though a lover waits at home,
We are born desiring, wanting:
We are born to break