It's an urge I can't get rid of; It niggles at my mind. Seven years or seventy, Can't leave that itch behind. It's a wish that isn't granted; It's right there out of reach. It's crawling through my body; It tickles in the breach. It tells me that we're human, That to live is to desire, To grab for things you can't have, To burn with endless fire, To twist and turn and totter, To wiggle, scratch, and twitch, To want and hope and holler Until you've scratched the itch.