Cemetry Gates

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, and hates and pa*sions just like mine They were born and then they lived and then they died It seems so unfair, 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 words you use should be your own Don't plagiaries or take on loan 'Cause there's always someone, somewhere 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, "Long done, do, does, did" Words which could only be your own And then produce the text from whence was ripped Some dizzy whore, eighteen hundred and four A dreaded sunny day So let's go where we're happy And I meet you at the cemetery 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 cemetery gates Keats and Yeats are on your side But you lose 'Cause weird lover Wilde is on mine Sure