The Man
He watches me, ‘Thing of evil, if bird or devil!’ shouts he.
For how long I’ve perched atop of here strange ore,
Watching him while he watches me, and I say
The one word to tell to the likes of him, to his inquisition since I came through the door,
His questions of my coming, my presence, my demeanour,
And I answer forever with “Nevermore”
He’s never satisfied with my replies, the answers,
He screams and shouts, echoes of the one word “Lenore.”
So I repeat my answer while my eyes grow denser
To a point where he looks withered and weary, more and more
With the consistency of his “Lenore, Lenore!”
I’ve nothing to say but “Nevermore”
He lies down, exhausted while I stare,
And hold his descending mood in my grasp, even more.
Wishing, forever wishing that he would turn away
To something other than I, as I sit on this strange ore,
Pondering why, why he is sitting, crouched on the floor,
I presume he’s grown tired of my answer—“Nevermore.”
For how long I’ve perched atop of here strange ore,
Watching him while he watches me, and I say
The one word to tell to the likes of him, to his inquisition since I came through the door,
His questions of my coming, my presence, my demeanour,
And I answer forever with “Nevermore”
He’s never satisfied with my replies, the answers,
He screams and shouts, echoes of the one word “Lenore.”
So I repeat my answer while my eyes grow denser
To a point where he looks withered and weary, more and more
With the consistency of his “Lenore, Lenore!”
I’ve nothing to say but “Nevermore”
He lies down, exhausted while I stare,
And hold his descending mood in my grasp, even more.
Wishing, forever wishing that he would turn away
To something other than I, as I sit on this strange ore,
Pondering why, why he is sitting, crouched on the floor,
I presume he’s grown tired of my answer—“Nevermore.”