Once upon a midnight craving,
Will I starved, weak and saving,
Over many a hotdog of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly dying,
Suddenly their came a crying,
As if someone's death was defying, just beyond my bedroom door.
"Tis just someone" I muttered, "with the training, sore-
Only this and nothing more.
Ah, distantly I remember,
It was in the cold december,
And each seperate dying ember from the barbecue before
made me wish for tommorow, vainly I sought to borrow,
From my craving surceased of sorrow, sorrow for the lost
Baltimore,
For the delicous and wonderful hotdog by the name Baltimore,
Nameless brand for ever more.
And the silken sad uncertain of each battered curtain
Thrilled me- with fantastic pains never felt before,
SO that now, to still the paining of my guts, I stood,
repeating, "Tis someone with the training sore,
some late student with the training sore,
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my guts grew stronger, then hestiating no longer,
"Dude," I said, "Or Dudette, truely your forgiveness I implore,
"But the fact is I was starving, and so gently you came crying,
ANd so faintly I heard you lying, that i scare was sure you were alive-"Here I opened wide the door
Darness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darness peering, long I stood there,
Wondering, leering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams I never dared to dream before,
But the silence was unspoken, and the stillness gave no token,
ANd the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
"Baltimore!"
This I whispeared, and a echo shouted back the word,
"Baltimore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the room turning, all my guts within me hurting,
Soon again I heard a cry somewhat louder than before.
"Surely, said I, "Surely that is something at my window lattice,,
Let me see, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,
Let my stomach rest a moment and this mystery explore,
'Tis a screech owl and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, and with a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately pigeon of days of war,
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of Squall and Rinoa, perched above my bedroom door,
Perched upon a portrait of Grandpa above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then I thought the air grew denser, from a unseen censer,
Swung by a angel whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor,
"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent thee-by that angel he hath sent thee,
Respite-respite and repent, from my memories of Baltimore!
Quaff, oh quaff and forget that brand Baltimore!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Nevermore."
"DAMMIT!" said I, "Thing of Seifer! Angel still, if bird or devil!
Whether Satan sent, or whether winds tossed ya here ashore,
Desolate all undaunted, on this Balamb land enchanted,
Tell me, truly I implore,
Is there- is there hotdogs in Deiling?-tell me, tell me I implore!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Nevermore."
"ANGEL!" said I, "Thing of evil- angel still, if bird or devil!
By the Heaven that spreads above us, by the God that we both adore,
Tell this soul laden if, within the distant Garden,
They shall clasp a wonderful brand of hotdogs named Baltimore,
Clasp a wonderful and delicous brand named Baltimore"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Never more."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or Raijin!" I shrieked, upstarting,
"Get thee back into they Deiling and the night's cold shore,
Leave no wrapper as a token of that like thy beak has spoken,
Leave my starving unbroken! Quit the portrait above my door!
Take thy beak, FROM OUT MY HEART, AND HAUL THY ASS RIGHT OUT MY DOOR!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Never more!"
And the Pidgeon, never flitting, still sitting, still sitting,
ON the portrait of Grandpa just above my bedroom door,
And his eyes have all the seeming of Seifer's that is dreaming,
And the lightbulb over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor,
And my stomach from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted-nevermore!
Will I starved, weak and saving,
Over many a hotdog of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly dying,
Suddenly their came a crying,
As if someone's death was defying, just beyond my bedroom door.
"Tis just someone" I muttered, "with the training, sore-
Only this and nothing more.
Ah, distantly I remember,
It was in the cold december,
And each seperate dying ember from the barbecue before
made me wish for tommorow, vainly I sought to borrow,
From my craving surceased of sorrow, sorrow for the lost
Baltimore,
For the delicous and wonderful hotdog by the name Baltimore,
Nameless brand for ever more.
And the silken sad uncertain of each battered curtain
Thrilled me- with fantastic pains never felt before,
SO that now, to still the paining of my guts, I stood,
repeating, "Tis someone with the training sore,
some late student with the training sore,
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my guts grew stronger, then hestiating no longer,
"Dude," I said, "Or Dudette, truely your forgiveness I implore,
"But the fact is I was starving, and so gently you came crying,
ANd so faintly I heard you lying, that i scare was sure you were alive-"Here I opened wide the door
Darness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darness peering, long I stood there,
Wondering, leering,
Doubting, dreaming dreams I never dared to dream before,
But the silence was unspoken, and the stillness gave no token,
ANd the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
"Baltimore!"
This I whispeared, and a echo shouted back the word,
"Baltimore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the room turning, all my guts within me hurting,
Soon again I heard a cry somewhat louder than before.
"Surely, said I, "Surely that is something at my window lattice,,
Let me see, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,
Let my stomach rest a moment and this mystery explore,
'Tis a screech owl and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, and with a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately pigeon of days of war,
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of Squall and Rinoa, perched above my bedroom door,
Perched upon a portrait of Grandpa above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then I thought the air grew denser, from a unseen censer,
Swung by a angel whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor,
"Wretch," I cried, "Thy God hath lent thee-by that angel he hath sent thee,
Respite-respite and repent, from my memories of Baltimore!
Quaff, oh quaff and forget that brand Baltimore!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Nevermore."
"DAMMIT!" said I, "Thing of Seifer! Angel still, if bird or devil!
Whether Satan sent, or whether winds tossed ya here ashore,
Desolate all undaunted, on this Balamb land enchanted,
Tell me, truly I implore,
Is there- is there hotdogs in Deiling?-tell me, tell me I implore!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Nevermore."
"ANGEL!" said I, "Thing of evil- angel still, if bird or devil!
By the Heaven that spreads above us, by the God that we both adore,
Tell this soul laden if, within the distant Garden,
They shall clasp a wonderful brand of hotdogs named Baltimore,
Clasp a wonderful and delicous brand named Baltimore"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Never more."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or Raijin!" I shrieked, upstarting,
"Get thee back into they Deiling and the night's cold shore,
Leave no wrapper as a token of that like thy beak has spoken,
Leave my starving unbroken! Quit the portrait above my door!
Take thy beak, FROM OUT MY HEART, AND HAUL THY ASS RIGHT OUT MY DOOR!"
Quoth the Pidgeon, "Never more!"
And the Pidgeon, never flitting, still sitting, still sitting,
ON the portrait of Grandpa just above my bedroom door,
And his eyes have all the seeming of Seifer's that is dreaming,
And the lightbulb over him streaming throws his shadow on the floor,
And my stomach from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted-nevermore!