Bob Dylan wrote a song, probably in late 1962, probably partly in response to the Cuban missile crisis. That song is “Masters of War,” and here are the lyrics:
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 http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs#ixzz3rQW5uHX2
The rage there has a history, and it has not gone away or ended. But the end of that rage is simply death. That is the frightening thing about the events today in France, about this song, about the world in which we live. The end of rage is not peace, not justice. It is simply death. Look at the final verse. There’s no hope there. There is only rage and death.
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
There are times when I wish I had a belief in a god of peace and justice. But all the gods seem to be gods of war and hatred and death. And so I do not believe. I hope, but hope comes increasingly more difficult. And I do not hope for more deaths, but I’m afraid a lot of people out there will agree with Dylan:
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