Where will the laughter come from now?

Where will the laughter come from now?
Where the champagne flow?
Where the carols were sung and hands were held
In the house down below.
 
Who will count the cows and watch
The imagined, burnished sea?
Who will  light the fires and cook
Old Man River’s tea?
 
Silence reigns where snoring shook
That worn and troubled bed.
Lock the doors and block your ears
For Johnny Boy is dead.