The Latin One - 10,000 Maniacs

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