What's stranger than fiction,truth surprisingly...
Are they both cut from the same cloth?
is there need to have clear distinct understanding
of the two,or would we be rather "drunk"
on the confusion.

The title comes from Mr. Charles' GET DRUNK!
Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"
Charles Baudelaire
Enivrez-Vous
Il faut être toujours ivre.
Tout est là:
c'est l'unique question.
Pour ne pas sentir
l'horrible fardeau du Temps
qui brise vos épaules
et vous penche vers la terre,
il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.
Mais de quoi?
De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu, à votre guise.
Mais enivrez-vous.
Et si quelquefois,
sur les marches d'un palais,
sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé,
dans la solitude morne de votre chambre,
vous vous réveillez,
l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue,
demandez au vent,
à la vague,
à l'étoile,
à l'oiseau,
à l'horloge,
à tout ce qui fuit,
à tout ce qui gémit,
à tout ce qui roule,
à tout ce qui chante,
à tout ce qui parle,
demandez quelle heure il est;
et le vent,
la vague,
l'étoile,
l'oiseau,
l'horloge,
vous répondront:
"Il est l'heure de s'enivrer!
Pour n'être pas les esclaves martyrisés du Temps,
enivrez-vous;
enivrez-vous sans cesse!
De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise."


Ahhh the lady in the poem would not listen to reason and when in her cups would plaintively croon as if comforting herself with her own sadness. . .
O love is teasing and love is pleasing
And love's a pleasure when first it is new
But as love grows older it still grows colder
And fades away like the morning dew
Come all you fair maids, now take a warning
Don't ever heed what a young man say
He's like a star on some foggy morning
You think he's near he's far away
I left my father, I left my mother
I left my brothers and sisters too.
I left my home and my fond relations,
Oh my young man, for the sake of you
O love is pleasing and love is teasing
And love's a pleasure when first it is new
But as love grows older, it soon grows colder
And fades away like the morning dew

He then realised the shell wasn't enough for his mind.