The same old song: someone in an office draws lines on a map and calls it defense, while the men in the mud freeze and starve just like in ’41. They promise medals and warm barracks, but the wind cuts through the same as it did back then, and the food’s still black bread and lies. I’ve seen this film — the speeches get louder, the flags bigger, and the bodies keep piling up in ditches no one names. They say it’s different now, that it’s about order or security or some Western provocation. Maybe. But the cold feels the same, and the dead don’t care about the reason. When they send boys to die, they always dress it up in honor. Never tell you honor doesn’t heat a trench.
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