…white-noise on the monitor, defective rounds in the chambers, terror in the eyes… broken hearts in perpetual agony… remembrance services honour working class war dead… sent to their early graves by etonian-oxbridge officers pursuing careers through the military… a busy weekend fire-bombing women and children… terrified foreigners boiled to death in their basements… poppy-fields hosed in bloodlust… walking out into mud-fields slaked in blood… morbid generals war-plans collapse amidst the fog and insurmountable carnage of the slaughter… horses drown in no man’s land… trench feet rot… aerial bombardment saturates innocents in fire and shrapnel… grim podium intonements of excess and filth; courting the pension-fund slave-masters… white devils in tailored suits spouting unfathomable rhetoric as the bombs fall and tracer rounds tear human flesh to ribbons… carpet bombing villages of strangers, smelting metals for medals, speaking slowly into the microphone, ash blowing on a dead breeze in remembrance…
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