Who finds peace in this fleeting age?
Each soul, a target on life's stage.
Ram's temple, the Sheikh's mosque,
Man resides in the tavern's cage.
The bottle, they say, is a vile thing,
The bottle, they say, a shadow it brings.
But it carries no blade to sever and wound,
Worse than the world, it is not, no sting.
We drink, though the deed is ill-famed,
By sorrow, our hearts are inflamed.
An old foe, we know it well,
We drink, though the deed is shamed.
Its face, we know, though we wince,
But a daily killer, this is not a deceiver,
Worse than the world, it is not, no wince.
Smiles on the lips, hate in the eyes,
Fresh enmities in life's guise.
Friendships of purpose, bonds, and deals,
A poison, yes, but not in men's lies,
Worse than the world, it is not, no lies.
Worse than the world, it is not, no lies.
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