Once atop a Mile High City, while I dropped back, weak and weary
As I’d done ten-thousand times, ten-thousand times or more
While I plodded, arm-strength sapping, suddenly there came a tapping
In my headset – gentle rapping, rapping in the one I wore
‘Tis but static in my headset, tapping like it has before’
This I thought, and nothing more.
Ah distinctly I remember, it was 17th November
And each seething, writhing blitzer wrought his wrath for quarters, four
Hastily my heart was beating; cowardly I was retreating
When a flash of Red eyes, fleeting – fleeting Beast from days of lore
The Dark Horse and his Chieftain rider, Red with blood still warm from war
This I saw, and nothing more.
Deep into that defense peering, apparitions had me fearing
Staring down a D no mortal ever saw alike before
But my focus then was broken; darkness fell with whispers spoken
Not until a fire woken was I shaken to my core:
Seraph, nightmare! Wreathed in flame! 58 – His chest, it bore!
Quoth the Legend, ‘Nevermore!’
And the defense, reappearing, in their wake the Dark Horse rearing
Fearing now I lacked the strength to march down for the winning score
And Poe’s eyes had all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming
And his great form o’er me screaming, from my clutch the ball he tore!
And my rapping headset spoke as I lay sprawled upon the floor
Quoth the Red Chief, ‘Nevermore!’