The Raven, as told by The Ghost Of Elvis Presley.
One night, around the ides of August, My sleeping fitful, I turned and toss-ed As my bowels fought against the cheeseburger from the night before I soon awakened from the churning The toilet bowl an urgent yearning, And I arose to make the trip I’ve made before barefoot across the stone cold bathroom floor To pinch a loaf, and nothing …
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