Why should we drug ourselves into unreason,
Watch unnatural colors twist and fade,
But that our eyes can't take another season
Of natural hues so stolid, dull, and staid?
Why should we drink ourselves to nightly blindness,
And so shut all sensation from our brains,
But that reality favors the mindless
And only the insensate have no pains?
Why should we shun the world before our noses,
Replace it with a false but pleasing ruse,
But that we know the bloom is off the roses
And such a sense is nothing great to lose?
There's Truth in wine, I've heard my elders say;
There's not, though--and I like it best that way.
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