The night is black
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Without a moon.
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The air is thick and still.
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The vigilantes gather on
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The lonely torchlit hill.
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Features distorted in the flickering light,
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The faces are twisted and grotesque.
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Silent and stern in the sweltering night,
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The mob moves like demons possesed.
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Quiet in conscience, calm in their right,
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Confident their ways are best.
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The righteous rise
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With burning eyes
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Of hatred and ill-will.
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Madmen fed on fear and lies
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To beat and burn and kill.
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They say there are strangers who threaten us,
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In our immigrants and infidels.
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They say there is strangeness too dangerous
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In our theaters and bookstore shelves.
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That those who know what's best for us
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Must rise and save us from ourselves.
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Quick to judge,
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Quick to anger,
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Slow to understand
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Ignorance and prejudice
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And fear walk hand in hand...
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-----------------
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Witch Hunt (Part III Of Fear)
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Rush |