Stop all the clocks,cut the telephone , Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone , Slience the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin , let the mourners come .
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead , Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves , Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves .
He was my North , my South , my East and West , My working week and my Sunday rest , My noon , my midnight , my talk , my song ; I thought taht love would last forever : I was wrong .
The stars are not wanted now ; put out every one ; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun ; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood . For nothing now can ever come to any good .