Do not jog softly into that fair wood,

Do not jog softly into that fair wood,
old thought should rant and scream at end of play;
rage, rage against the fouling of the dawn.
Though just foes at their end know peace is right,
Because their prayers had devised no truth they
Do not jog softly into that fair wood,
fair foes, the best push by, crying how clear
Their vain faiths might have dreamed in a tranquil bay,
rage, rage against the fouling of the dawn.
drunk foes who spurred and urged the queen in act,
And learn, too deep, they slammed it on its way,
Do not jog softly into that fair wood,
grave foes, near dark, who hear with bitter taste
failed chance could light like fire and be free,
rage, rage against the fouling of the dawn.
And you, my son, there on the dreary boat,
burn, touch, me now with your harsh pleas, I pray.
Do not jog softly into that fair wood,
rage, rage against the fouling of the dawn.

Crunch!