The stream was twelve files deep. They walked in even step. Men, men, men, all in the same uniform; from throat to ankle in the dark blue linen, bare feet in the same hard shoes, hair tightly pressed down by the same black caps. And they all had the same faces. Wild faces, with eyes like fire-brands. And they all sang the same song—song without melody, but an oath—a storm vow:
“We’ve passed sentence upon the machines!
We have condemned the machines to death.
The machines must die, to hell with them!
Death!—Death!—Death to the machines—!”
The girl danced along before the streaming, bawling multitude.
She led the multitude on. She led the tramping multitude forward against the heart of the Machine-city of Metropolis.
She said: “Come...! Come...! Come...! I will lead you...! I will dance the dance of Death before you.... I will dance the dance of the murderers before you...!”
“Destroy—destroy—destroy—!” yelled the crowd.
They acted without plan, and yet following a law. Destruction was the name of the law; they obeyed it.