The Munition Maker

Em                    D
I am the Cannon king, behold!
Em                      D
I perish on a throne of gold
C                          Em
With forest far and turret high
D                          Em
Renowned and rajah-rich am I
Em                      D
My father was and his before
Em                           D
With wealth we owe to war on war;
C                       G
But let no potentate be proud
D                         C
There are no pockets in a shroud


[Verse 2]
Em                      D
By nature I am mild and kind
Em                        D
To gentleness and truth inclined;
C                             Em
And though the pheasants over-run
Continúa después del anuncio
Em                           C
My woods, I will not touch a gun
C                             Em
Yet while each monster that I forge
D                             G
Thunders destruction from its gorge
C                               Em
Death's whisper is, I vow, more loud
D                         C
There are no pockets in a shroud


[Verse 3]
Em                            D
My time is short, my ships at sea
Em                          D
Already seem like ghosts to me
C                         Em
My millions mock me, I am poor
Em                  D
As any beggar at my door
Em                   D
My vast dominion I resign
C                             Em
Six feet of earth to claim as mine
Em                        
Brooding with shoulders bid 
  D      G
bitter-bowed
D                         C
There are no pockets in a shroud


[Verse 4]
Em                             D
Dear God, let me purge pure my heart
D         Em              D
And be of Heaven's hope a part!
C                            Em
Flinging my fortune's foul increase
D                           C
To fight for pity, love and peace
C                            Em
Oh that I could with healing fare
D                          Em
And pledged to poverty and prayer
C                           G
Cry high above the cringing crowd
C                           Em
"Ye fools! Be not by Mammon cowed
D                         C
There are no pockets in a shroud."