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~From: jgladman@uoguelph.ca (Julie R Gladman)
corrected lyrics:  "Benjamin L. Weiss" 

This is my approximation of how this song is played:

Masters of War -- Bob Dylan

Am    Am7 Am

Am               Am Am7 Am
Come you masters of war
Am                      Am Am7 Am
You that build the big guns
Am                      Am Am7 Am
You that build the death planes
Am                        Am Am7 Am
You that build all the bombs
Am                     Am Am7 Am
You that hide behind walls
Am                      Am Am7 Am
You that hide behind desks
Am     C           G          F                Am     Am7 Am
I just want you to know I can see through your masks

And the song just continues in that vein for the rest of the
verses:

You that never have done nothin' but build to destroy
You play with my world like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand then you hide from my eyes
Then you turn and run farther when the fast bullets fly

Like Judas of old you lie and deceive
A world war can't be won, and 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 that 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 mansions while the young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies and gets 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 won't ever buy back your soul

And I hope that you die and your death will come soon
I'll follow your casket through the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered into your death bed
Then I'll stand over your grave till I'm sure that you're
dead

*Corrections to lyrics or chords would be most welcome.*

--
*"Do you ever get the feeling that the story's too damn real
and*
*in the present tense?   Or that everybody's on the stage
and it*
*seems like you're  the only  person sitting  in the
audience?"*
*                           -Ian Anderson
*
*   Something to think about,
*
*        Julie Gladman jgladman@uoguelph.ca
*