With crackling torches lit
And pitchforks raised,
The peasant horde
Marches ungoverned,
Searching for real
And confected monsters.
The posse is a mindless beast,
And the agglomerated mob
Brims with blood-lust
And madness. The whole
Is far less than the sum
Of its parts:
Each new body adds mass,
But each fresh outrage
Diminishes the hive's brain.
One if by land; two if by sea.
They're coming for you
And coming for me.
---o0o---
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