fredag 10 september 2010

Att stilla somna in...

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 She Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, 0ur talk, our song;
We thought that ♥ love ♥ would last for ever;
We were fucking wrong....

Älskade farmor, svärmor, mamma Pia...du finns för alltid i våra hjärtan!

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