simfonija udaraca po tipkama tastature i raspad strukture balona od sapunice

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 airplanes 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 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 ever come to any good.

 

Wystan Hugh Auden je napisao, strašno dobra pjesma, iako je u originalu posvećena njegovom ljubavniku koji je umro. Ako nekog zanima puno o njemu i njegovim pjesmama može pogledati na http://www.audensociety.org/.