the smell of rotten flesh
wounded in the trenches
drying the last moist cigarette
hallucinating out of fear
the rumble, the bullets
relentless drums of death
the black monsters made of steel
arise in the bad sight of the mask

from throwing handgrenades to the crawling tanks
death is omnipresent and so is the enemy

blood soaked soil
marks the way
the race to the sea
after victory along the Aisne

from the trenches along the Somme to the corpses in no man's land
they shall fight, crush and destroy and never return

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