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Lyrics:
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 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 all the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch While the death count gets higher Then you hide in your mansion While the 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
Review:
Dylan's outstanding second album is a tremendous
jump from its predecessor. Whereas the debut
established him as a peerless interpreter of folk
and country-blues classics, and a singer like none
before, this followup features some of the most
pungent original songs of the '60s. "Blowin' in
the Wind," "Masters of War," "A Hard Rain's
A-Gonna Fall," "Don't Think Twice, It's All
Right," "I Shall Be Free": if this sounds like the
lineup for a greatest-hits collection, you've got
the idea. Nat Hentoff's liner notes are charmingly
dated, but Dylan's idiosyncratic singing,
unexpected lyrics, and inimitable guitar and
harmonica playing are as immediate and relevant as
whatever you heard on the radio today. (As great
as this is, there's much more: a handful of
top-rank outtakes from Freewheelin' appear on the
Bootleg Series box set.) --Jimmy Guterman
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