count dachula

scary doxy

And the Wiener, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;


And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,


And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;


And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor


Shall be lifted – nevermore!