I met a man the other day
Who thought he was a goat
He shaped his hair to look like horns
And bleated from his throat

Confused, but caught with sympathy
With truth I plied the man
But he with darkened eyes aghast
Just bid me “Baa!” and ran

With grief at his misguided state
I followed him with care
But coming round a corner, stopped
At what my eyes saw there

A crowd had gathered round this wretch
And placed him on their stage
They cheered his choice with loud acclaim
And led him to their cage

I cried aloud, “Don’t do it, man!”
To keep him from their chains
They turned on me in frothy rage
And blamed me for his pains

I cried again, “You need the Truth!”
But he in fear refused
He bleated feebly, fearing that
His thoughts could be confused

The crowd rose up and echoed him
With voices loud and bold
With angry eyes they charged at me
With tongues and whips to scold

I fled, I hesitate to say
And sorrowful admit
For they together threatened to
A greater crime commit

But as I left that tragedy
I chanced a look behind
And saw that each had hidden close
Some error like his kind

The tragic truth was now laid bare:
They had no love for him
But used his case just to affirm
Each one’s beloved whim