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The Raven

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Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered, weak and weary.

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Over many a quaint and curious
volume of forgotten lore.

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While I nodded, nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a tapping,

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As of someone gently rapping,
rapping at my chamber door.

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"Just some visitor", I muttered,
"tapping at my chamber door.

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Only this and nothing more."

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BART: Are we scared yet?


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LISA: Bart! He's establishing mood.

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Ahhh, distinctly I remember,
it was in the bleak December.

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And each separate dying ember,
wrought its ghost upon the floor.

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Eagerly I wished the morrow,
vainly I had sought to borrow

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from my books surcease of sorrow,

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sorrow for the lost Lenore.

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Ohhh Leonor!!!!!!!

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For the rare and radiant maiden,
whom the angels name Lenore.

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Nameless here for evermore.

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Ahhhhhh

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And the silken, sad, uncertain
rustling of each purple curtain

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thrilled me—filled me with
fantastic terrors never felt before;

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So that now, to still the beating
of my heart, I stood repeating

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"Tis a visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door

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This it is and nothing more."

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Presently my soul grew stronger;
hesitating then no longer

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“Sir,” said I, “or Madam,
truly your forgiveness I implore.

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But the fact is I was napping,
and so gently you came rapping

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And so faintly you came tapping,
tapping at my chamber door.

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That I scarce was sure I heard you”
—here I opened wide the door...

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BART: This better be good...

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Darkness there and nothing more.

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BART: You what would have
been scarier than nothing?

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LISA: What??? 
BART: Anything!

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Back into the chamber turning, 
All my soul within me burning,

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Soon again I heard a tapping
something louder than before.

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“Surely,” said I, “surely that is
something at my window lattice;

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Let me see, then, what there at is,
and this mystery explore."

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Open here I flung the shutter,
when, with many a flirt and flutter,

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In there stepped a stately Raven
of the saintly days of yore;

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Not the least obeisance made he; 
Not a minute stopped or stayed he

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But, with mien of lord or lady,
Perched above my chamber door

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Perched upon a bust of Pallas
just above my chamber door.

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Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 


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"Hehehehe.

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Though thy crest be shorn and shaven,
thou,” I said, “art sure no craven.

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Ghastly grim and ancient Raven
wandering from the Nightly shore.

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Tell me. Tell me what thy lordly name is
on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

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Quoth the Raven; 


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BART: Eat my shorts!

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LISA: Bart, stop it! He says “Nevermore”

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and that's all he'll ever say.


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BART: Ok, ok.

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Then, me thought, the air grew denser,
Perfumed by some unseen censer

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"D'oh! Stupid censer.."

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Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls
tinkled on the tufted floor.

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“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee
—by these angels he hath sent thee

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Respite and nepenthe from
thy memories of Lenore.

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Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe
and forget this lost Lenore!”

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 


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"D'oh! Be that word our sign of parting,
bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting,

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“Get thee back into the tempest
and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

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Leave no black plume as a token of
the lie thy soul hath spoken!

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Leave my loneliness unbroken!
—quit the bust above my door!

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Take thy beak from out my heart,
and take thy form from off my door!”

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 


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"Take thy beak from out my heart,
and take thy form from off my door!”

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Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 


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"Why you little..."
"Uh-oh."

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"Come back here you little raven!"

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"Oww!!" "Nevermore. Nevermore
Nevermore. Nevermore..."

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"Ow."

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"Ow."

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And the Raven, never flitting,
still is sitting, <i>still</i> is sitting

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On the pallid bust of Pallas
just above my chamber door;

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And his eyes have all the seeming
of a demon’s that is dreaming,

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And the lamp-light o'er him streaming
throws his shadow on the floor;

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And my soul from out that shadow,
that lies floating on the floor,

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shall be lifted—nevermore!

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Hahahaha