Stop all the clocks, cut of the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the piano's and with muffed drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbing on the sky, the message: 'He Is Dead'
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves
Let the traffic policeman 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 that 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
PS: Dit gedicht heb ik uit de film Four weddings and a funeral gehaald. Het werd voorgelezen op de begraffenis.