Songs Of Spring

A dreaded sunny day

So I meet you at the cemetery gates

Keats & Yeats are on your side

A dreaded sunny day

So I meet you at the cemetery gates

Keats & Yeats are on your side

While Wilde is on mine

So we go inside

& we gravely read the stones

All those people all those lives

Where are they now?

With the loves & hates

& passions just like mine

They were born

& then they lived & then they died

seems so unfair

& I want to cry

You say:

 "ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn"

& you claim these words as your own

But I've read well, & I've heard them said

100 times, maybe less, maybe more

If you must write prose & poems

The words you use should be your own

Don't plagiarize or take "on loans"

There's always someone, somewhere

With a big nose, who knows

& who trips you up & laughs

When you fall

Who'll trip you up & laugh

When you fall

You say:

 "ere long done do does did"

words which could only be your own

& then you then produce the text

From whence was ripped

 Some dizzy whore, 1804

A dreaded sunny day

So let's go where we're happy

& I meet you at the cemetery gates

Oh Keats & Yeats are on your side

A dreaded sunny day

So let's go where we're wanted

& I meet you at the cemetery gates

Keats & Yeats are on your side

But you lose because Wilde is on mine
Morrissey/Marr
1985