Bob Dylan, "Masters of War," 1963
In the postwar period, rock and folk music (followed by punk and hip hop later on) became outlets for political protest. Many anti-Vietnam songs would come to pass in the 1960s--but note that Dylan's angriest protest song, "Masters of War," predates the escalation of war there. He wrote the song in protest of American Cold War foreign policy.
Anthologized in Engel et al. Lyrics sourced at link bottom right as well. Bob Dylan at the August 1963 Civil Rights March. Source: National Archives and Records Administration via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.
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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 Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/masters-war#ixzz3ZVUy5SSL |