Pregled posta

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 crępe 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 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.

Ti govoris: `Otici cu nekoj drugoj zemlji, nekom
drugom moru
i grad cu pronaci bolji nego sto je ovaj.
Jer ovdje sto cinjah gresno uvijek je bilo
i moje srce, poput mrtva trupla, lezi pokopano.
Koliko ce ovdje mojih misli jos rasut se?
Kamo god da okrenem se, kamo god da gledam
vidim tek ruine crne mog zivota u ovom gradu
gdje provedoh tako mnogo dana, traceci ih i
nisteci.`

Al` ne, drugu zemlju, drugo more ti pronaci neces,
ovaj grad ce zauvijek te pratit.
Istim ces ulicama hodit, starec
u susjedstvu istom, u istim oronut kucama.
Skoncavati uvijek u ovom ces gradu, ne nadaj se
drugom.

Broda nema za te, niti jedne ceste.
I svoj zivot kojeg si nistio ovdje
unistio u cijelom si svijetu.