Their slogans and clatter mingled with untold fury,
As they charged towards him like a fierce gale,
His eyes widened, his joints collapsed, his face was pale,
But they just didn't care; he had to be dealt with duly.

The shy moon gave his face a sinister veneer
And made all his homely features quickly disappear,
So all they could see was a man afraid -
Afraid because of the guilt his heart bred.

With broken bones and bleeding flesh he lay half dead.
The last piece of life wrestled within him.
Only then was a voice from the crowd heard that said;
"Oh no! It was not him!"