You look so sad,
come, drink some wine;
should your glass be empty,
feel free to drink from mine.

Don’t worry about
how I will get drunk without it,
for I am already
under the table, over the Moon.

You look so sad,
with blue eyes divine;
should your heart grow empty,
feel free to run off with mine.

Don’t worry about
how I will then live without it,
for I know already,
under the table, over the Moon,
that I loved too early
and she left too soon.

I feel so mad,
confined in time,
where sunbeams are plenty,
but all in need of refining.

Should I worry about
how I will expel the clouds?
when I am already
under the table, over the Moon,
for I loved too early
and she left too soon.