Who'll trip you up and laugh when you fall

A dreaded sunny day
'Cause weird lover Wilde is on mine
And then produce the text from whence was ripped
Keats and Yeats are on your side

All those people, all those lives
It seems so unfair, I want to cry
But I've read well, and I've heard them said
And I meet you at the cemetery gates
Don't plagiaries or take on loan
A dreaded sunny day
A dreaded sunny day
If you must write prose and poems

And who trips you up and laughs when you fall
You say, "Long done, do, does, did"
So let's go where we're wanted
Words which could only be your own
Sure
And I meet you at the cemetery gates
And you claim these words as your own
A hundred times maybe less, maybe more
So let's go where we're happy
So I meet you at the cemetery gates

Oh, Keats and Yeats are on your side
But you lose
Some dizzy whore, eighteen hundred and four
You say, "Ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"
With a big nose, who knows

They were born and then they lived and then they died
Where are they now?
'Cause there's always someone, somewhere
While Wilde is on mine
With loves, and hates and passions just like mine
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones

The words you use should be your own
Keats and Yeats are on your side

Keats and Yeats are on your side