Walk warily! Remember, sister, we are
Under sedation of habit, of hope, of lust;
The drug of custom helps us to adjust;
If it did not, how could we possibly bear
Our civilization for a single day?
Although the edges of its knives are wet,
The dripping red is easy to forget.
Your own, or someone else’s? Who can say?
Just keep on putting one foot after another;
The horror is blunted, like the ecstasy.
Illusions of normal living serve us, brother,
To keep the heart conditioned not to see
What in his passionate age drove Goya wild:
That old, mad god eating his naked child.