Video Transcription
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 a coffin, let the mourners come
Let aeroplanes circle mourning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message "He is dead"
Curl bows round the white necks of the public doors Let the traffic police men wear black cotton gloves
Here was my north, my south, my east and west My working week and my Sunday rest