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,
Faces are twisted and grotesque
Silent and stern in the sweltering night,
The mob moves like demons possesed
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,
Our immigrants and infidels
They say there is strangeness to danger us
In our theatres 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