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Dulce et Decorum Est
Eridan (2013-01-15 22:03:55)Wwhat wwar is this about?
We're waiting every night to finally roam and invite newcomers to play with us for many years we've been all alone
We're forced to sit still and play the same songs we've known since that day an imposter took our life away now we're stuck here to decay
We're forced to sit still and play the same songs we've known since that day an imposter took our life away now we're stuck here to decay
Tavros (2013-01-16 16:50:10)No, Eridan Normally adds too many vv's or ww's because that how she roles. Wwhat up Vvictorious wwinner?? :3
Dear Tavros, show
Eridan (2013-01-17 11:01:57)Bump. .p.
We're waiting every night to finally roam and invite newcomers to play with us for many years we've been all alone
We're forced to sit still and play the same songs we've known since that day an imposter took our life away now we're stuck here to decay
We're forced to sit still and play the same songs we've known since that day an imposter took our life away now we're stuck here to decay
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Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the 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,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Wilfred Owen
We are studying this in English class. I thought you might want to see it.