The War Within
The joys and pleasures of drinking
Having been asleep and submerged
Re-awakened and buoyed up
As a herald of the great war within
Never ceasing but ravaging my soul
A wave tossed to and fro
by winds of wisdom and foolishness
Tipsy and drowsy I stumbled
fell and broken, snared and taken
Bruised on my forehead and left eye
A public display of folishness and blindness
With no soundness in my head
But wounds, bruises and putrefying sores
My lofty looks were humbled
and my haughtiness bowed down
Instead of a sweet smell,
there is a stench
And in the place of a rich robe
a girding of a sackcloth
An honourable man famished
and his multitudes dried up
It is not for kings to drink wine
nor for rulers to desire strong drink
lest they drink and go astray
and the sheep be without a shepherd
I am a king and a priest
for the display of the manifold wisdom
Not perverseness and foolishness
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