The Munition Maker - Ver 2

N.C. 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 Em D By nature I am mild and kind Em D To gentleness and truth inclined; C Em And though the pheasants over-run 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 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 D G Brooding with shoulders bid bitter-bowed D C There are no pockets in a shroud 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."