Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and
weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Fantasy Football Lore,,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some fellow Niner Fan,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Fantasy Football Lore,,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some fellow Niner Fan,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven from the Chesapeake River Shore.
Not the least obeisance made he; in his old Ray Lewis jersey;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon my E-bay bust of the running back Frank Gore -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
In there stepped a stately raven from the Chesapeake River Shore.
Not the least obeisance made he; in his old Ray Lewis jersey;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon my E-bay bust of the running back Frank Gore -
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, tell me ghastly grim and ancient raven
How the outcome will unravel when the two teams meet in battle
In that ancient mausoleum near the wide Mississippi shore
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, tell me ghastly grim and ancient raven
How the outcome will unravel when the two teams meet in battle
In that ancient mausoleum near the wide Mississippi shore
Quoth the raven, “By two scores.”
Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird
or devil!
By the Halls of Holy Canton - by that game we both adore -
Even though the answer kills us, by the sainted name of “Patrick Willis,”
Tell me whether the result will thrill us, here on the broad Pacific’s shore,
Will the trophy of Lombardi go to my lads so hale and hearty in the Red and Gold I adore?
Quoth the raven, `By two scores.'
By the Halls of Holy Canton - by that game we both adore -
Even though the answer kills us, by the sainted name of “Patrick Willis,”
Tell me whether the result will thrill us, here on the broad Pacific’s shore,
Will the trophy of Lombardi go to my lads so hale and hearty in the Red and Gold I adore?
Quoth the raven, `By two scores.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I
shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the foul depths of sooty Baltimore!
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 raven, `By two scores.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid Ebay bust of the running back Frank Gore;
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
Quoth the Raven, “By two scores”
`Get thee back into the tempest and the foul depths of sooty Baltimore!
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 raven, `By two scores.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid Ebay bust of the running back Frank Gore;
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
Quoth the Raven, “By two scores”
