"Perhaps we know each other too well, or not at all," the raven cackles. "This room, it seems a dungeon cell, 'neath the couch cushions there are shackles. Your eyes are sleepless water wells, my mind a cyclone of riddles. Your shoes are made of eggshells, my socks are woven of needles. No one knows what a raven can do with a few hours and a need to sin, so light the candle to warm the stew. I'll be your hero if you'll be my heroin."