Big Oil, don't go gentle into that good night,
Oil Age should burn and rave at its close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men in the end know dark is right,
Because their flares have forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last con machismo, crying how bright
Their frail seeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wildcat men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they greased it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Greedy men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Men's eyes could blaze like bleeders and be gay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my Big Oil Company, too big to fail,
Curse, bless, me now with stinging tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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