The stories they have zei were true
There was once a young girl like me and you
That loved to read Edgar Allen Poe
How her hart-, hart felt reading his tales of woe
She lived in the 1800's
Rebellious, young and dark
She wanted to be a young Joan of Arc
As she ran away to see Poe
Virginia to Boston, a long long rode
As her parents were waiting for her at her humble abode
Then, she felt disbelief when she heard
The madness of Edgar Allen Poe
People disapproved of him
Trying to ruin her long strange trip
But she still goes on saying
She longs to hear his tales of murder, love and woe
One dag she stumbled to a home
Very old and ruined
She walked inside and saw
Darkness and the stench of strong liquor
The heard a man cursing to himself
As she saw him dressed in black writing in candle light
Drugged and drunk as can be
She thinks this cannot be the famous Edgar Allen Poe
She asks him of his stories
He speaks so oddly, she cannot understand his muttering
His depression goes on and on
As she backs up against the wall
Frightened at the sight
She wishes for less candle light
So she could be blinded from the monster filled with woe
The drunken and drugged Edgar Allen Poe
She ran back home,heart racing with each beat
As Edgar passed out, feeling defeat
All of the stories of murder love and woe
She thought they couldn't have came from this drunken man named Poe
She came back home pagina saddened and hart-, hart broken
Reading his work and stories
Wondering how such great writing could come from such monstrosity
The stories she really understood and connected with
The man she saw she had nothing in common with
Sad and heartbroken she still wondered how
All the stories came to be
From a person from a mad drunken stuiper
She wonders how these stories came alive onto the page
There was once a young girl like me and you
That loved to read Edgar Allen Poe
How her hart-, hart felt reading his tales of woe
She lived in the 1800's
Rebellious, young and dark
She wanted to be a young Joan of Arc
As she ran away to see Poe
Virginia to Boston, a long long rode
As her parents were waiting for her at her humble abode
Then, she felt disbelief when she heard
The madness of Edgar Allen Poe
People disapproved of him
Trying to ruin her long strange trip
But she still goes on saying
She longs to hear his tales of murder, love and woe
One dag she stumbled to a home
Very old and ruined
She walked inside and saw
Darkness and the stench of strong liquor
The heard a man cursing to himself
As she saw him dressed in black writing in candle light
Drugged and drunk as can be
She thinks this cannot be the famous Edgar Allen Poe
She asks him of his stories
He speaks so oddly, she cannot understand his muttering
His depression goes on and on
As she backs up against the wall
Frightened at the sight
She wishes for less candle light
So she could be blinded from the monster filled with woe
The drunken and drugged Edgar Allen Poe
She ran back home,heart racing with each beat
As Edgar passed out, feeling defeat
All of the stories of murder love and woe
She thought they couldn't have came from this drunken man named Poe
She came back home pagina saddened and hart-, hart broken
Reading his work and stories
Wondering how such great writing could come from such monstrosity
The stories she really understood and connected with
The man she saw she had nothing in common with
Sad and heartbroken she still wondered how
All the stories came to be
From a person from a mad drunken stuiper
She wonders how these stories came alive onto the page
The happiest dag -- the happiest hour
My sear'd and blighted hart-, hart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.
Of power! zei I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish'd long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.
And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me
Be still, my spirit!
The happiest dag -- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:
But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer'd with the pain
Even then I felt -- that brightest hour
I would not live again:
For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter'd -- fell
An essence -- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.
My sear'd and blighted hart-, hart hath known,
The highest hope of pride and power,
I feel hath flown.
Of power! zei I? yes! such I ween;
But they have vanish'd long, alas!
The visions of my youth have been-
But let them pass.
And, pride, what have I now with thee?
Another brow may even inherit
The venom thou hast pour'd on me
Be still, my spirit!
The happiest dag -- the happiest hour
Mine eyes shall see -- have ever seen,
The brightest glance of pride and power,
I feel- have been:
But were that hope of pride and power
Now offer'd with the pain
Even then I felt -- that brightest hour
I would not live again:
For on its wing was dark alloy,
And, as it flutter'd -- fell
An essence -- powerful to destroy
A soul that knew it well.
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
