Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should earn and rave at Blashill's way;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though Dan Cleary at his end know dark is right,
Because his words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Zetterberg, the last wave by, crying how bright
His frail deeds might have danced in a red bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Larkin, who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Datsyuk, near retirement, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors hate the gays,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, Ken Holland, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, Cleary now with a contract on track, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
