Lyrics

Benjamin Britten - Funeral Blues

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original text at mamqa.com/ulyricsnew/benjamin-britten-funeral-blues-20425
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 He Is Dead
Put crêpe 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 for ever: 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
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Benjamin Britten

Benjamin Britten - Biography

Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) was one of the 20th century’s greatest opera composers. Born in Suffolk, England, he studied at the Royal College of Music. He fell into the circle of W.H. Auden, and though he left a few years later, he met the tenor Peter Pears, who would become his greatest musical interpreter and his personal partner until Britten’s death. After spending part of the years of World War II in America, he leapt to prominence in 1945 with his opera Peter Grimes. Later successes on the stage included Albert Herring, Billy Budd, The Turn of the Screw, and Death in Venice. He wrote music for other venues as well, and his great successes include the Serenade for Tenor, Horn, and Strings; the Variations on a Theme by Frank Bridge; the Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra; and the War Requiem. Shortly before his death, he became the first composer to be awarded a life peerage by the British crown.
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