The Crowd Has No Memory

FEED IT! FEED IT! SOMEBODY SLIPPED!

EVERYBODY GETS A SWING TONIGHT!

NOBODY ASKS WHAT HAPPENED —

ASKING SLOWS THE HAND DOWN!

IT FEELS SO CLEAN, THIS FEELING,

IT FEELS EXACTLY LIKE JUSTICE

AND IT COSTS US ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

The crowd has no memory.

By morning it has moved,

already furious at someone new,

already sure again.

And the one left standing in the quiet

remembers every single name.

The crowd has no memory.

The target keeps the whole thing.

I'VE BEEN IN IT! I'VE SWUNG HARD!

I'VE FELT THE WARMTH OF BEING MANY,

THE PERMISSION IN A THOUSAND HANDS,

THE COWARD'S COURAGE OF A CROWD!

AND I NEVER ONCE WENT BACK

TO SEE WHAT WAS LEFT ON THE FLOOR!

The crowd has no memory,

it has appetite instead.

It doesn't hate you, that's the strange part —

it barely knows your name.

You were the shape available

on an evening that wanted a shape.

The crowd has no memory.

You'll carry it for years.

The crowd has no memory —

so be the one who checks the morning after.

Be the single message in the wreckage

that says: I saw it. Are you alive?

Mercy costs one person nothing

and it's the only thing that reaches.

The crowd has no memory.

Be somebody's.