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Do Not Go Gently
Weddings Parties Anything
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To the bar he goes in his half-grown beard and his workman's clothes
And to closing time he can sit and think
Of the things that he did in his prime
When his hair was longer and his ideals were stronger
Before he let things pass, when he thought
He was the voice of the working class
He really thought he was the voice of the working class
But the years roll by and they took their toll
One grows tired and one grows old
Looks for a temporary situation
He might as well wait for his superannuation
And now he hardly thinks of a manuscript he wrote
He sits and drinks in a Fitzroy pub
And refuses to admit that he has missed the boat
He refuses to admit that he has missed the boat
But all the memories of wild nights spent in carter bars
And all the tales he tells of kicks of drink and borrowed cars
His hands they shake, his eyes they glaze
He exaggerates his little days
We all grow old, we all get fat
Pray to God we don't all go like that
As the night rolls on and it's getting late
So he's off home to a house he hates
For the restless sleep on the clean white sheets
And the morning when his head will ache
Just in time to catch a train
And start the whole thing fresh again
But is fresh the word you'd use?
Not much to win, much too much to lose
ย
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
Do not go gentle, do not go sad
ย