Stop all the clocks, cut off the phone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum...
Bring out the photos, let the celebration come.
Let aeroplanes circle smiling in the skies,
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Alive,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear white cotton gloves.
She is my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my light;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was right.
The stars are wanted now: light up every one;
Put up the moon and fire up the sun;
Fill up the ocean and tend the wood.
For everything now will indeed be good.
