5-7 Sober up, you drunks!
    Get in touch with reality—and weep!
Your supply of booze is cut off.
    You’re on the wagon, like it or not.
My country’s being invaded
    by an army invincible, past numbering,
Teeth like those of a lion,
    fangs like those of a tiger.
It has ruined my vineyards,
    stripped my orchards,
And clear-cut the country.
    The landscape’s a moonscape.

Read full chapter