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snore snore Lanore Lanore
Get over it you queer your wife is dead
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter in there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not a minute stopped or he stayed he; But, with mean of lord or lady, he perched above above my chamber door.
With my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloating o'er,
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
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