Fatal Breath

Sweet it must be to bite Fritz Haber's air
To bathe in flame inside the dragon's lair
For I to croak without pain in Passchendaele
Drown in tears you may or drown in ale
Know I'm only forlorn, and I mean you no ill
I had lived, I had ached, I shall die by the wind
Glory be to me, a transient in the trench I am

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