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Bent double like old beggars in sacks
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Knockkneed and cursing or coughing like hags Men marched on sleeping
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some without boots Fatigue drunken deaf still to the hoots Of breaking
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gas shells Dropping softly behind But limped on bloodshod All went
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lame all went blind Gas gas quick boys fumbling helmets in time
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Someone still screaming a man in fire or lime Under a grey cloud dim
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dark through green light In all my dreaming before my helpless sight
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He plunges at me Choking guttering drowning Put in a wagon he had to
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keep pace As his eyes melt to his face If you could hear blood
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Gurgling from ruptured lungs If you could witness Vile sores on
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innocent tongues You would not tell me Not with such pride and such
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zest The lies of history Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori Some
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desperate glory Pro patria mori As witness disturbs the story Pro
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patria mori Stand firm boys breathe the glory.
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-----------------
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The Latin One
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| 10000 Maniacs |
