"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."

bassman@tif.org http://www.tif.org/bassman/