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10000 Maniacs Hope Chest The Latin One THE LATIN ONE (Lombardo/Owen) 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 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. |
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