The Mob Rules
In the shadows of a distant village,
By the light of a Crescent Moon.
With death in the air, vigilantes swear,
That vengeance will be coming soon.
With hate filled hearts and eyes of fire,
They all gathered as a ship of fools.
They knelt to pray, had little to say,
Only the doctrine that the mob rules.
The crime on the docket was read,
The murder of the preacher's son.
Like a pack of hounds, they made their rounds;
And the search of a suspect begun.
Their madness had grown to a frenzy,
So uncaring of wrong or right.
Now covered in sin, the verdict was in,
Someone's blood would be spilled tonight.
For most of the evening they sifted,
Through every nook and cranny in town.
Not sensing danger, a passing stranger,
Was the one they chose to put down.
He was carried and tied to a tree,
They all laughed as he begged and pleaded.
Beaten and battered, nothing else mattered,
But to seek the justice they needed.
Repeating the most medieval ways,
Their methods and deeds were unsound.
But to no surprise as the sun would rise,
An innocent man would lie on the ground.
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