He didn't say THAT!!,did he?
The "Raven" should be fully registered and street legal by then! Sounds like fun.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak October,
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 Colour
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Colour
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple venom
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 chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more,"
Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" -- here I opened wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Colour!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Colour!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat 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 crawled a stately cobra of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, coiled beneath my chamber door
Coiled below a bust of Pallas just below my chamber door
Coiled, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony snake 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 namesake.
Ghastly grim and ancient fakesnake wandering from the Nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the cobra, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly beast to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing snake below his chamber door
Snake or beast below the sculptured bust below his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the cobra, spitting only on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered not an eyelid then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have slid before
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have slid before."
Then the snake 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 his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-nevermore.'"
But the cobra still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of snake and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous snake of yore
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous snake of yore
Meant in hissing "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the beast whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from the memories of Colour!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Colour!"
Quoth the cobra, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if snake or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
On this home by Horror haunted tell me truly, I implore
Is there is there balm in Gilead? tell me tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the cobra, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!' said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if snake or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Colour
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Colour?"
Quoth the cobra, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, snake 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 beneath my door!
Take thy fangs from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the cobra, "Nevermore."
And the cobra, never spitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just below my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted nevermore.
The Cobra
with all due apologies to the master,
Edgar Allan Poe
Hope you can make it. Still 2 + months out.
Good to hear from you buddy. 
