I dreaded sunny days, so I'll meet you at the cemetery gates Keats and Yates are on your side Wild, wild is our mind So we go inside and we gravely read the stones All those people, all those lives, where are they now? Oh, with love and hate and passions just like mine They were born and then they lived and then they died Seems so unfair, I want to cry You, sir, throws this undone 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 words you use should be your own Don't plagarize or take on loan But 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, blue dust is Words which could only be your own And then produced a text from whence was ripped Some dizzy ***, 1804 A dreaded sunny day, so let's go where we're happy And I meet you at the cemetery gates Oh, Keats and Yates are on your side A dreaded sunny day, so let's go where we're wanting And I meet you at the cemetery gates Keats and Yates are on your side But you lose his will, the love of wild is our mind Keats and Yates are on your side But you lose his will, the love of wild is our mind