A dreaded sunny day I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and yeats are on your side A dreaded sunny day So I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and yeats are on your side While wilde is on mine
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones All those people all those lives Where are they now ? With loves, with hates With passions just like mine They were born And then they lived And then they died It seems so unfair Oh, I want to cry
You say : 'ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn And you claim these words as your own But I've read well, and I've heard them said A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more) If you must write prose and poems The word you use should be your own Don't plagiarise or take on loan There's always someone, somewhere With a big nose, who knows And trips you up and laughs When you fall Who'll trip you up and laugh When you fall
You say : long done do does did Words which could only be your own And then produce the text From whence was ripped (some dizzy whore, 1804)
A dreaded sunny day So let's go where we're happy And I meet you at the cemetry gates Oh, keats and yeats are on your side A dreaded sunny day So let's go where we're wanted And I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and yeats are on your side But you lose 'cause weird lover wilde is on mine
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