Tom Pacheco
MERCHANT OF DEATH




He might be the kindly uncle 
Who never talks about his work 
When he disappears for weeks and weeks 
In the bloody shadows where he lurks

He sells guns to the freedom fighters 
Tanks to their right wing foes 
He wears the flag of whatever cause 
Or country that will pay him most

He's a merchant of death 
He's a merchant of death 
He's a merchant of death

He's got bank accounts in Bangkok 
Investments in Paraguay 
He shakes hands with the KGB 
And plays cards with the ClA

Do you need war planes? That's easy 
His connections always connect 
He's never felt guilt for the pain he's caused 
Or the innocent lives he's wrecked

He's quite proud of his shrapnel factory 
His munitions plant works full time 
He looks like your ordinary salesman 
Who contributes to the March of Dimes

He might own a gold Mercedes 
A beach house in Key Biscayne 
You may not see any blood on his hands 
But it's leaking from his soul like rain