Marketing
FUNERAL BLUES
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 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 everyone;
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.
Toliko je smrti oko mene...
Smrti koja oduzima nevine živote prije vremena...
Smrti koja je oduzela roditelje...mojim vršnjakinjama...
...majku mojom dragoj Prijateljici...
...smrti koja tjera na plač...
Post je objavljen 14.11.2006. u 23:20 sati.