the Raven

ballad of a drunk driver

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I drank and drove, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious bottles of forgotten beer,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my Land Rover door.
 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my Rover door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore or maybe Kasi??
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my Land Rover's door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my Rover's door.
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping at a green light after drinking, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my SUV's door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering with bloodshot eyes, long I stood there, nearly tipping, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, BLOW HARDER!!
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,
"BLOW HARDER" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the car I's turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven-haired cop, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my Land Rover's door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my Rover's door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the Chief's name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven-haired cop, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this unmanly cop to hear discourse so plainly,
Though her answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his Rover door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his Rover door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the ravenous cop, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.
Nothing further then she uttered; not a feather then she fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow she will leave me in jail, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the cop said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till her songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of her hope that melancholy burden bore..
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven-haired cop still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of gal cop, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous cop of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous cop of yore
Meant in croaking "furthermore, you're under arrest for DUI"

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl cop, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining and spinning
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land rover enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there champagne at the Canary?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door"
Quoth the ravenous cop, "Nevermore."

And the raven-haired cop, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my Land Rover's door;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall I drive drunk---nevermore!