Thirty-five years ago a Philadelphia judge spent her life changing the way we treat the mentally incompetent and the criminally insane, and succeeded. The mental institutions were emptied, the patients left to themselves, free to live in subway concourses or in a box on the street. Such is compassionate liberalism. Involuntary institutionalization was set aside, leaving society helpless in the face of those who live their lives in the dark of the moon.

 

 

In the dark of the moon

In the depths of the soul

Comes the cry of the loon

And the silent bell toll

Calling forth the red gaze

From the unfocused eyes

To the scene through the haze

And the stalk of the prize

Trust the bullets that shine

Love the Glock in your hand

There she is, she is mine

Let my hatred be fanned

Let my aim be sublime

Let my weapon be true

It is now, it is time

She will get what is due

Pull the trigger right now

See her jump as she’s hit

I am in her sight now

And she knows this is it

Oh the joy of it all

She’ll be gone very soon

Yes the networks will call

In the dark of the moon

 

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