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The darkmen are here with their talk of free speech, reaching for their baseball bats, their banter and bullets. They'll be running the ghettos, spying from high towers with their smiles and their rifles and their Aryan eyes. The darkmen are here burning our books with their flaming torch fingers, they mingle among us monosyllabic, saluting the foes of their granddaddy's wars. The darkmen are here unthinking, unblinking. They cannot add up but they move in ever multiplying numbers. Their ears are numb and their boots are heavy, marching into a battle that nobody wants except them. Harry Gallagher