Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog barking with a fat juicy bone
Silence the piano and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come
Let aeroplanes circle, moaning way overhead
Sky scribbling the message "Ansett Is Dead"
Put the crepe bow round the white necks of doves
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves
Ansett was my North, my East South and West
My working week, my days of rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought it would last forever, but how 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.
Goodbye my Lovely Lady.