Near a cold Papuan waterfall one fine December day
Beside his shattered Kittyhawk, a young F.O. there lay
And as he lay by the coconut tree, not quite completely dead
These are the words, the very last words, the young F.O. he said

I'm going to a better land where everything is bright
Where wine flows from the coconuts, play poker every night
I'm going to a better land where everything is green
Illee beaucoup and woman too, O Death where is thy sting?

O Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling, O Grave thy victory
The bells of hell go ring-a-ling-a-ling for you but not for me
I'm going to a better land where everything is green
Illee beaucoup and women too, O Death where is thy sting?

From Frank M. Goode of the University of Michigan Mathematical Psychology Program, who flew a B-25 from Australia.