The Poet
The wind has blown, the times a-changed
Lay lady lay is long laid to rest
The Masters of War lie fat in their beds
Still doing what they have always done best
The hard rain that falls is harder now
The rich take just like a woman
The Masters of War lie fat in their beds
The price of their wealth is inhuman
The chimes of freedom have been stilled
We learned we are not young forever
The Masters of War lie fat in their beds
With the knowledge that they are so clever
They keep on talking of World War III
They keep that old stone rolling
The Masters of War lie fat in their beds
Content with their bank accounts swollen
I wish that for just one time they could stand inside our shoes
But we are mere pawns in the game
The Masters of War lie fat in their beds
Was all the poet’s love in vain?
Happy birthday, Bobby, and thanks for all the words
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