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 over head
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 wood;
For nothing now can come to any good.
~ W. H. Auden
Showing posts with label song. Show all posts
Showing posts with label song. Show all posts
December 01, 2011
So, you guys wanna hear a Black Flag song? Four words: Before. You. Were. Born. The last time I was here with Black Flag, I was getting beer bottles thrown at my balls and white people were beating up black people. You guys didn't even have a hair on your nuts! ~ Henry Rollins, at a Rollins Band gig in Austin, Texas, 13 June 1997.
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