Cemetry Gates - Live in Boston Songtext
von The Smiths

A dreaded sunny day
So 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 and hates
With passions just like mine
They were born
And then they lived
And then they died
Seems so unfair
I want to cry


You say, "Ere thrice the sun hath 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 or poems
The words 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 who trips you up and laughs
When you fall
Who'll trip you up and laugh
When you fall

You say, "Ere long done do does did"
Words which could only be your own
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
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
Weird lover Wilde is on mine

You have good taste, thank you