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