The epitaph for any man is oft devoid of joy This epitaph fit many men some old, some yet mere boys He's dead, Jim He's gone and died He's croaked off I don't know why Some weird disease we found Has put him six feet down Cremation has claimed him He's dead, Jim So spacemen fear this sentence well Bones hasn't missed one yet The day these words sound as your knell There's a day you won't forget He's dead, Jim He's lost and gone He punched out that Klingon wrong Life's feeble flutter flew And left his bod with you Despace him Replace him He's dead, Jim