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,
The last line of the stanza reveals the reason for the imperatives; the funeral.  The dead person must be acknowledged in the appropriate, dignified way required by convention.
Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks