You must always be drunk. That's all there is to it: that's the only question.
So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that crushes your shoulders
And you bend towards the earth, you must get drunk without respite.
But what kind of wine, poetry, or virtue, as you prefer?
But get drunk, and if sometimes, on the steps of a palace
On the green grass of a ditch, in the dreary solitude of your room
You wake up, the intoxication already diminished or gone.
Ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock
To all those who flee, to all those who groan, to all those who roll, to all those who sing
To all those who are speaking, ask what time it is
And the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you
It's time to get drunk, so we don't become the martyred slaves of time.
Get drunk, get drunk endlessly, on wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you please.