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At altamira cave
For centuries,snowfall after snowfall,
Outside, in what would be Spain
They painted their walls and left their mark
Calling down the magic of image
To control the beasts whose flesh and bone and hide
Made possible their desperate lives
In imitation of the terrible, beautiful world without
Their minds had come awake within,
Putting it up on their walls, praying to unnamed forces
Hoping for more days to dawn for they and theirs.

Then, quite suddenly,
Just a little while ago
The weather warmed and they left the caves;
Crops were grown
Cities born
Religion got organized, then more organized
Until Faith itself became a kind of Science
The book of nature was translated and read

Her every secret was exposed and exploited
Until the wonderful was rendered commonplace
The commonplace elevated to wonders
Through the workings of some new magicians
Acting on popular request
To relieve the dull ache remaining
After they'd pulled all sense of Majesty
From their distrusted, protesting hearts.

So now we find ourselves
Sitting in our individual caves
Awaiting magic from the cathode ray boxes,
Hoping someone will make new dreams for us
So we can play at controlling the Outside
By imitating it inside, in the shape of our fondest desires.

     Pray to the electronic wall, All Ye Hopeful!
     Pray for beauty, for pain, for rage, seduction, sedation
     For gods, for whores, for profit, penance -
     All these things the real world holds,
     Yet frighten us to touch.
     Everyone knows it's better to reflect the world,
     To dress it up as we like,
     With ever-present option to switch channels
     Than to face it as it is, cold and naked,
     Than to call things by their true names.

Yet some of us weary of the dreamwall.
Yet some of us are attracted to the cold and naked.
Yet some of us yearn to venture forth from the cave again.
Yet some of us know the true names.

     Those who do teach their children the difference
     Between Real and Pictures of the Real.
     Those of us teach our children to paint their beasts
     On their very bedroom walls, sometimes;
     We teach them how to call them by their real names.
     We teach them how to kill them with their real spears.

Venture out then, sometime, with these children,
These little ones who Know.
You'll find the snow's not really so deep as it seemed, 
Beneath it
Real grass, real stone, real fire, real hope.
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