No pleasure in this flesh

There's no bodhi in this body;
no pleasure in this flesh.
The peak climax of orgasm:
the harbinger of death.

I haven't met a pleasure
that did not end in pain.
The newlyweds on honeymoon
years later are estranged.

Wine, it leads to drunkenness.
And drunkenness is bliss.
Bliss, it leads to headache, yeah,
and then we're back to this.

There's no bodhi in this body.
No comfort in this skin.
Sped along from cradle to grave
and then reborn again.

The fresh lightness of newborn.
The heaviness of age.
Tick tock the clock of moth and rust
and turn another page.

There's no bodhi in this body.
No pleasure in this tongue.
The first bite always tastes the best
the worst is when it's done.

It wants to go on tasting.
Such is the body's greed.
The appetite of treacherous tongue
it far exceeds the need!

Sick we are from excess:
the aftermath of feast.
The stomach turns and then we retch
and beg for right release.

There's no bodhi in this body.
No pleasure in this flesh.
Lovers turn to enemies.
If not, there's always death.