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
Who breaks your shoulders and bends you towards the earth
You must get drunk without respite.
But of what? Of wine, of poetry, or of 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 disappeared, ask the wind
To the wave, to the star, to the bird, to the clock
To all those who flee, to all those who groan
To all those who drive, 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
They will tell you, it's time to get drunk.
So as not to be the martyred slaves of the time
Get drunk, get drunk without ceasing
Wine, poetry, or virtue, as you wish.