Bent double like old beggars in sacks
Knockkneed and cursing or coughing like hags
Men marched on sleeping some without boots

Fatigue drunken deaf still to the hoots
Of breaking gas shells
Dropping softly behind

But limped on bloodshod
All went lame all went blind
Gas quick boys fumbling helmets in time

Someone still screaming a man in fire or lime
Under a grey cloud dim dark through green light
In all my dreaming before my helpless sight

He plunges at me
Choking guttering drowning
Put in a wagon he had to keep pace

As his eyes melt to his face
If you could hear blood
Gurgling from ruptured lungs

If you could witness
Vile sores on innocent tongues
You would not tell me

Not with such pride and such zest
The lies of history
Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori
Some desperate glory
Pro patria mori

As witness disturbs the story
Pro patria mori
Stand firm boys breathe the glory