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 


Sure !