Saturday, May 24, 2008

Happy Birthday, Bob Dylan

Jeff Newberry sent along birthday greetings to the Weird Bard, Robert Zimmerman (a.k.a. Bob Dylan). And so why not? From his second album, when Bob was doing the folk protest better than anybody (before he did the transition to electric, better than anybody), he wrote as vituperative a critique of the military-industrial complex that's ever been written: "Masters of War."

"Masters of War"
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

And, as a special treat, from D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, "Subterranean Homesick Blues."


Susan said...

I went to a Dylan concert outside Madrid a couple summers back. It felt good to be an American, a sentiment I noticed because it's so rare these days. And then he sang "Masters of War." Very chilling.

Philip Metres said...

Bob still has it, even though he can be weird as hell in his evasions. He probably made the right move when he exploded the folk thing and moved on, but I still get chills hearing some of those early songs.