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, my West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk and 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."
Funeral Blues Video (MV)
Performed By: D.C. Anderson
Language: English
Length: 2:35
Written by: Victor Krummenacher, Wh Auden
D.C. Anderson - Funeral Blues Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
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, my West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk and 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."
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, my West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk and 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."
Writer: Victor Krummenacher, Wh Auden
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management