are confused among us,
always with their eyes on the watch,
with their ears ready and their noses alert,
pointing their fingers
at the offender on duty.
Moralists in suits and ties,
but there are also those dressed in tin,
ragged or luxurious,
do not respond to historical materialism
but to the fashion of the miserable little earthly time
that they were lucky to have.
Moralists who get on all the ferries
that cross the pond of common sense,
pat each other, approve of each other,
feeling that now they have really changed the world.
God of the whip, I beg you,
flog their balls and buttocks,
the moralists of
this disenchanted era.