I confess, without shame, I am sick 
and tired of fighting—its glory is 
all moonshine; even success 
the most brilliant is over dead 
and mangled bodies, with the 
anguish and lamentations of distant 
families, appealing to me for sons, 
husbands and fathers; tis only those 
who have never heard a shot, 
never heard the shriek and groans 
of the wounded and lacerated that cry 
aloud for more blood, more vengeance, 
more desolation