do not go gentle into that good night
old age should burn and rave at close of day
rage rage against the dying of the light
though wise men at their end know dark is right
because their words had forked no lightning they
do not go gentle into that good night
good men the last wave by crying how bright
their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
rage rage against the dying of the light
wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight