Cemetry Gates

A dreaded sunny day so 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 and hates and passions just like mine
They were born and then they lived and then they died
Seems so unfair, I want to cry

You say, "Ere thrice the sun hath 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 or poems
The words 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 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
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
(Sure)