witch hunt

• the night is black
  without a moon
  the air is thick and still
  the vigilantes gather on
  the lonely torch lit 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 theaters and bookstore shelves
  that 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...