Danton's hands let go, and he slid down the chute.
"... sing the songs of the billowing flags, the bugles that cry before.
Oh, but the skeletons flapping rags, the lips that speak no more."
He scarcely felt the bodies under him. He looked at the woman singing and he listened.
"... sing the clash of bayonets and sabres that flash and hew,
Will you sing of maimed ones, too, who die and die anew?"
Danton stumbled. He reached her side.
"Sing of feted generals who bring the victory home.
Oh ... but the broken bodies that drip like honey-comb!"
Danton touched her shoulder. Her uniform hung in tatters. A line of red ran down her torn arm. She sank to her knees. He could barely hear the last two lines of her song.