We are dreaming of tomorrow and tomorrow isn't coming
We are dreaming of a glory that we don't really want
We are dreaming of a new day when the new day's here already
We are running from the battle when it's one that must be fought.
And still we sleep.

We are listening for the calling but never really heeding
Hoping for the future when the future's only plans
Dreaming of the wisdom that we are dodging daily
Praying for a saviour when salvation's in our hands.
And still we sleep.

And still we sleep,
And still we pray,
And still we fear,
And still we sleep.

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,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.