The narrator throws open every door he can find. Joy belongs to the boys and girls, to the fishes in the deep blue sea, to everyone breathing. He'd make the world a paradise if he were king, and he means it without a shred of irony. There's a friendship here too, a specific one, someone who helped him drink his wine and showed him a good time. The vision is enormous and the affection is personal, both held in the same breath.

You hear these words and something loosens in your chest. The generosity is so wide it pulls you out of whatever small room you've been sitting in. If you're someone who forgets that delight is available, this is a sharp reminder. The wine keeps showing up, and it sits there glowing, uncomplicated, a good time with no morning after. That's the one blind spot: pleasure and drinking fused together as though they're the same thing. For most listeners it passes without weight. For someone watching their relationship with a bottle, it registers.