Masters of War

Bob Dylan

Come, you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs

You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks

You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy

You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you sit back and watch
While the death count gets higher

You hide in your mansion
While the young peoples' blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud

Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness?
Do you think that it could?

I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul

And I hope that you die
And your death will come soon
I'll follow your casket
On a pale afternoon

I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand over your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead

<1963>