The figure formed from your ire,
A target to aim at and fire,
He mocks from up on high,
Watches you kneel and cry,
You scream and shout his name,
Desperate to win the futile game,
Knock him down and he again rises,
Ignoring your self-inflicted crisis.

All go mad at his tricks and ploys,
Controlling all like puppets and toys,
Pushing the boundaries over the wall,
Your patience limit held in thrall,
If only he'd turn tail and run,
Fleeing from your knife and gun,
Raise your forks and torches high,
The effigy's terminus is nigh.

All are bound in eternal rage,
Held within a tormented cage,
The figure stalks the gathered morass,
Their jeering words an unruly mass.
Calmly he gestures you all away,
Not in the mood to stand and play,
So you thrust and punch and maul,
Contagious hate consuming you all.

But as the feeling slowly subsides,
Drifting out like evening tides,
Stood within a crimson pool,
Only then do you feel so cruel,
His crimes were words and nothing more,
A life ended beneath rapturous roar,
A cowardly deed your tainted legacy,
A nameless victim, a chosen effigy.