Who has anguish? Who has sorrow? Who is always fighting? Who is always complaining? Who has unnecessary bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes?
It is the one who spends long hours in the taverns, trying out new drinks.
Don’t gaze at the wine, seeing how red it is, how it sparkles in the cup, how smoothly it goes down.
For in the end it bites like a poisonous snake; it stings like a viper.
You will see hallucinations, and you will say crazy things.
You will stagger like a sailor tossed at sea, clinging to a swaying mast.
And you will say, “They hit me, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t even know it when they beat me up. When will I wake up so I can look for another drink?”