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Echoes of glory always sound hollow,
Like the dead footsteps of those whom they follow,
Marching to Ypres or up to the Marne,
To be shot by a sniper hiding in a barn.

Everyone always has God on their side,
Puffed up with patriotism and pride
Just as the legions marched through the Forum,
Soldiers march still saying, 'Dulce et decorum'.

Each side is fighting for freedom they say,
But freedom from fear disappears on the way.
Echoes of glory, of medals and honour,
Jane Doe with white cross and grass growing upon her.