Once upon a midnight dreary, swooning (as though slightly beery)
Over Peter's visage in the movies I adore
While I smiled, quite ecstatic, at his eyebrows acrobatic
The screen fizzed out to total static, and I promptly swore
'I shall inspect the cord,' I said, 'Perhaps it's fallen to the floor...
Only this, and nothing more.'

Forward I began to amble, thinking this a rude preamble
To watching Mr. Moto's Gamble; this was such a chore
'What's happened to the electronics? Dad will be in histrionics
And will require healing tonics if our TV is no more.
A new one, we cannot pay for.'

I nudged the plug back into place, and to the screen returned the face
The face of Peter Lorre, who I'd gladly perish for
But just there, above the screen, in the window clear and clean
Appeared a bird I'd never seen in Iowa before
'Twas a raven, nothing more.

He rapped the window with his beak, gave me a look so sad and bleak
And with my emotions weak, I felt a great rapport for
The raven, with his quills so ruffled - he looked at me and sadly snuffled
He squawked, but lo! the sound was muffled; I started to deplore
His suff'ring in the great outdoors.

Said I, 'Poor birdie! Oh, alack! My chamber window I shall crack
Come on in and have a snack, your wings must be so sore!'
I beckoned him to step inside, for in my home he would abide
'Til winter weather did subside - it wasn't much he wanted for
Shelter, food, and nothing more.

Stepping in out of the gloom, his feathers he began to groom
And then, around and 'round the room, the bird began to soar
Contented, I then pushe'd 'Play,' to watch the film without delay,
But the crafty bird of prey my film did not ignore
He eyed the TV from the floor.

He cocked his head in contemplation of my favorite film sensation
And his utter fascination warmed me to the core
I praised the avian film buff, but I'd regret it soon enough
For next the bird would softly utter words that I abhor
Quoth the raven: 'He played Igor.'

My next confession is a true one: I almost tore the bird a new one
But did not let myself come undone; my calm I did restore
A raven cannot be expected to have the knowledge I've collected
And the bird could be corrected, I was almost sure:
For Peter never played Igor.

'Raven,' I said, 'you're mistaken, and you have me rather shaken.
And I'll turn you into bacon if my words you do ignore.
The notion that you have conveyed is incorrect, I am afraid
But it's a common error made by movie fans galore.'
Quoth the raven: 'He played Igor.'

'No,' I said, 'you cheeky bird, which of my words have you not heard?
My indignation you've incurred. O, Raven, I implore!
Listen well to what I say: he was not at all the way
The Warner Bros. Cartoons portray him!' I cried, rather sore
Quoth the raven: 'He played Igor.'

'Listen here, you stubborn thing, before I tear you wing from wing!
You must quit belittling the actor I adore!
Why do you not understand the simple facts I have at hand?
I'll remove your damned preen gland!' I did begin to roar
Quoth the raven: 'He played Igor.'

'Winged menace! You shall drive me mad, you filthy, damp, flea-bitten cad!
Leave now, or things will turn out bad!' I hissed, dreaming of gore
The raven, as though telepathic, fluttered up towards the attic
And perched upon the Tiki head above my chamber door
Madly screeching: 'He played Igor.'

And that raven still is sitting in every classic movie webring
And ev'ry horror fanlisting, and messageboards galore
And he's whispered in the ears of movie fans for tens of years
Mockingly, he stares and leers at Peterfans hardcore
Forever cackling: 'He played Igor!'