Edited For Worth
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence 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 our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought that Worth would last for ever: we were 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.
We'll miss ya
Thats all I have to say
Chris
Edited by - plasma on 3/12/2004 10:24:34 AM