Oh you, with the bottle of sour liquor in your hands.
Swaying back and forth, on the pretense of happiness.
Are you only ever happy when you are drunk?
Sailing away from pain on a boat of glass, know this:
Pain has a sour-sweet sensation:
Just like your bottle.
Oh you, who have never known true happiness.
Only that extracted from the bottom of a vessel;
That bottomless vessel.
I ask, do you know what pain really is?
Or do you only know what you feel?

Oh you, listen well:
Doomed are the critics of the world.
Doomed am I, you say.
Doomed also is that liquor trapped in your hands
Doomed also, are you, trapped in the hands of liquor.