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 every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Annons

The photo has no tags

hemlig beundrare Sat 29 Mar 2008 21:10

lille söte trean <3

nerknarkattroll Sun 9 Dec 2007 11:58

fast bea, du får ändra, he is dead iaf :P o lite annat :D dör du före mig ska ja läsa den :P

Bea Sat 8 Dec 2007 21:58

Naw, visst var den fin!! Den ska jag ha på min begravning (hoppas jag)!

3 comments on this photo

December 2010