How cliché I think.
A man lying on the brink.
And in the dark he struggles on,
And into death he sinks.
He’s plugged into machines,
In the empty air he screams,
Only falling on my ears,
And he’s busting at the seams.

But he fights a valiant fight,
Not gentle to the night,
And with fury in his eyes he marches on.

He throws an eye my way,
As he tries so hard to say,
Where’s my sister Betty?
Is she visiting today?
Well, no. I whisper soft.
I’m sure you’re in her thoughts,
And you can be quite certain
She’ll be here to see you off.

Cuz you fight the valiant fight,
Not gentle to the night,
And with fury in your eyes you’re marching on.

Close your eyes and rest,
Doctor says that that’s what’s best,
And don’t you even worry about anything you’ve missed.
You’re older than me,
You’ve seen things I haven’t seen,
And I can’t visualize
The life through which you’ve been.

But he fights a valiant fight,
Not gentle to the night,
And with fury in his eyes he marches on.