Stop the clocks, telephones off!
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos with muffled drums
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come
Let the airplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is dead!
Put the bows round the white neck of doves.
Let the guards wear black cotton gloves
The stars are not wanted now, put out everyone
Pack up the moon, and dismantle the sun
Pour away the oceans and sweep away the woods
For nothing now can come to any good
Malkul mawt has done his job
All there is left is to sob
For he is dead
His soul with the owner of all, Allah.