/lit/ - Literature

If you could hear, at every step,
The blood come gargling from froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory
That old lie: "Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."

>>11146522
You'd only ask this question if you'd never heard of WWI.