Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare

Were just pissing on the grave of what went on before

And everyone invents the world the day that they were born



Somethings going on here and its going on without me

Im standing on the precipice and counting all my recipes

Im sick and tired of paying homage to the altar

Of the things that went before me when I wasnt born to be there



Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare

Were just pissing on the grave of what went on before

And everyone invents the world the day that they were born



Theres a painting of my lover in the corner

Shes taken off her clothing and shes standing in the rain

Seems like shes beckoning for me to come and join her

But shes trapped inside a painting and Im running out of patience



I sip a pint of beer and marvel at the magic

I must be as drunk as Mister Marlowe in his prime

I stumble through the shambles of my own imagination

Cause the poet of tomorrow will be just as drunk as I am



Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare

Were just pissing on the grave of what went on before

And everyone invents the world the day that they were born

Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare

Were just pissing on the grave of what went on before

And everyone invents the world the day that they were born

Every poet wants to murder Shakespeare