The night is black, without a moon

The air is thick, and still

The vigilantes gather on

The lonely torchlit hill



Features distorted in the flickering light

The faces are twisted and grotesque

Silent and stern in the sweltering night

The mob moves like demons possessed

Quiet in conscience, calm in their right

Confident their ways are best



The righteous rise

With burning eyes

Of hatred and ill-will

Madmen fed on fear and lies

To beat and burn and kill



They say there are strangers, who threaten us

In our immigrants and infidels

They say there is strangeness, too dangerous

In our theatres and bookstore shelves

Those who know what's best for us

Must rise and save us from ourselves



Quick to judge, quick to anger

Slow to understand



Ignorance, prejudice and fear

Walk hand in hand