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 and prejudice And fear Walk hand in hand
