Is it you,
Is it me
Whom the dead poet may be...
It matters not
It's just a thought
Of who the dead poet might be.
A master of word
Whom indeed will be heard
They won't go with the herd
They'll sing like a bird!
But they're dead after all
Noone hears their call
And they do as they're told
With the ground
They
All
Fold