'Cause there's always someone, somewhere
And then produce the text from whence was ripped
So I meet you at the cemetery gates
Don't plagiaries or take on loan
And you claim these words as your own
With loves, and hates and passions just like mine
But you lose
The words you use should be your own
So let's go where we're happy
So let's go where we're wanted
If you must write prose and poems
You say, "Long done, do, does, did"
All those people, all those lives
Keats and Yeats are on your side
Where are they now?
It seems so unfair, I want to cry
With a big nose, who knows
A dreaded sunny day
Who'll trip you up and laugh when you fall
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
A dreaded sunny day
While Wilde is on mine
Some dizzy whore, eighteen hundred and four
But I've read well, and I've heard them said
Keats and Yeats are on your side
They were born and then they lived and then they died
And I meet you at the cemetery gates
And who trips you up and laughs when you fall
'Cause weird lover Wilde is on mine
Oh, Keats and Yeats are on your side
A dreaded sunny day
Keats and Yeats are on your side
Words which could only be your own
You say, "Ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"
And I meet you at the cemetery gates
A hundred times maybe less, maybe more
