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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
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