I only find within my bones, taste for eating earth and stones. 
When I feed, I feed on air, Rocks and coals and iron ore. 
My hunger, turn. Hunger, feed: field of bran.
Gather as you can the bright, Poison weed. 
Eat the rocks a beggar breaks, 
The stones of ancient churches' walls, 
Pebbles, children of the flood, Loaves left lying in the mud. 

Beneath the bush a wolf will howl, Spitting bright feathers 
From his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself.
Waiting to be gathered, [bad word] and grasses spend their hours; 
The spider spinning in the hedge, Eats only flowers.
Let me sleep! Let me boil! On the altars of Solomon; 
Let me soak [bad word] soil, and flow into Kendron