Masters of War
                     by Bob Dylan

                 Come you masters of war
                 You that build all the guns
                 You that build the death planes
                 You that build the big 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 put a gun in my hand
                 And you hide from my eyes
                 And you turn and run farther
                 When the fast bullets fly

                 Like Judas of old
                 You lie and deceive
                 A world war can be won
                 You want me to believe
                 But I see through your eyes
                 And I see through your brain
                 Like I see through the water
                 That runs down my drain

                 You fasten the triggers
                 For the others to fire
                 Then you set back and watch
                 When the death count gets higher
                 You hide in your mansion
                 As young people's blood
                 Flows out of their bodies
                 And is buried in the mud

                 You've thrown the worst fear
                 That can ever be hurled
                 Fear to bring children
                 Into the world
                 For threatening my baby
                 Unborn and unnamed
                 You ain't worth the blood
                 That runs in your veins

                 How much do I know
                 To talk out of turn
                 You might say that I'm young
                 You might say I'm unlearned
                 But there's one thing I know
                 Though I'm younger than you
                 Even Jesus would never
                 Forgive what you do

                 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'll come soon
                 I will follow your casket
                 In the pale afternoon
                 And I'll watch while you're lowered
                 Down to your deathbed
                 And I'll stand o'er your grave
                 'Til I'm sure that you're dead

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