A dreaded sunny day
So I meet you at the cemetery gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
So I meet you at the cemetery 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
And passions just like mine
They were born
And then they lived
And then they died
Which seems so unfair
And I want to cry
You say: "ere thrice the sun hath door
Salutation to the dawn"
And you claim these words as your own
But I'm well read, have heard them said
A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more)
If you must write prose and poems
The words you use should be your own
Don't plagiarise or take "on loan"
There's always someone, somwhere
With a big nose, who knows
And who trips you up and laughs
When you fall
Who'll trip you up and laugh
When you fall
You say: "ere long done do does did"
Words which could only be your own
You 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 cemetery gates
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 cemetery gates
Keats and Yeats are on your side - but you lose
While Wilde is on mine