Funeral Blues

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Can you complete W. H. Auden's Funeral Blues?

Featured Apr 3, 2009

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Score 0/30 Timer 07:00
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the     from         with a            
        the        and              drum
      out the coffin,     the mourners come.
Let airplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put       bows round the white necks of the        doves,
Let the traffic           wear black cotton        
He was my North, my        my      and West,
My              and my        rest,
My       my           my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was       
The       are     wanted      put     every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour      the ocean and       up the wood.
For nothing     can      come to any good.

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Created Apr 3, 2009Report
Tags:Lyrics, song, auden, blue, funeral, Funeral Blues, H Auden