What Rough Beast?

By the flare of firelight
I see the Klan and the torches arching 
By the beating of the drums 
I hear the sound of the Nazis marching 

Stained and creased, the banners of hatreds past 
Can rise again like a fence of thorn 
What rough beast, its hour come round at last 
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born 

Shadows lie on the human heart 
Old resentments nursed in silence 
Like the prick of a poison dart 
Breaking out in sudden violence
 
Stained and creased, the banners of hatreds past 
Can rise again like a fence of thorn 
What rough beast, its hour come round at last 
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born 

With a cross that it holds on high 
And a mantle of ancient glories A
ttitudes and the reasons why 
Spread in jokes and in songs and stories 

Stained and creased, the banners of hatreds past 
Can rise again like a fence of thorn 
What rough beast, its hour come round at last 
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born