𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞
With their hate exposed and their minds closed tight
They are marching on to that old red beat
Down the bloodied road and the blackened street.
They’re the nightmare spawned on the darkest night.
They’re the Marxists’ dream, both the black and white.
They’re the proof that the West’s decay’s complete,
With its bones now dust neath the marching feet
Of the damned divisions that smear and smite.
While they know not hunger nor great world war,
And no sacrifice has been asked of them,
Their precept’s the product of one mad brain —
And all but what pleases, it will ignore
And all that displeases, it will condemn,
For it is the master of crowds insane.
— D.N. O’Brien