On a day I was perusin' during the High Holy season
Over many a traditional volume of religious lore -
Suddenly, there came loud ringing, ringing, ringing and more ringing
As if some nudnik was leaning, leaning on mine kitchen door.
"Jehovah's Witnesses", I muttered, ringing on mine kitchen door.
Only that and nothing more.

Oy, distinctly I remember, it was in the hot September
From the brush fires burning embers dropping dirt upon the floor.
Dolefully I watched the blackness as the smoking wrought the likeness
Grim and ghastly horrid likeness - grotesque form of lost Lenore
Of the vain, unfaithful vixen whom another calls Lenore -
Nameless here forever more - feh!

And the fasting of Yom Kippur, longing for the time for supper
Filled me - killed me - with unkosher cravings never felt before.
So that now to quell the grumbling of mine gut I stood mumbling
Praying with mine back a leaning 'gainst the refrigerator door -
Waiting patiently for sundown ere I open up the door.
One more hour and nothing more.

Trying to control mine hinger, answering the doorbell ringer
"Vhat you vant that you are makink so much noise at mine door?"
"Vaht dire tidings are you bringink that on mine doorbell you are leanink?"
"So persistantly are ringink, leanink on mine kitchen door/"
Oy vay! Hokink a tchynik, so I opened up the door.
Little pischers, nothing more.

I gazed into the smoky evening as the scarlet sun was setting
Longing, craving something at the delicatessen store.
But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token
Except for one word spoken by a skanky voice, "Lenooore!".
Then I uttered, "All the only outs in free!", and slammed the door.
Party Pooper, such a bore.

Back into the kitchen toining for some food mine soul vas yoining
Soon, again, I hoid a droning even louder than before.
"Givalt!", said I, "Vaht a din now - banging on mine kitchen window
Like a Santana wind - oh. State your name, you crashing bore!
Foist I'll have a tioky sandwich then I'll open up the door."
My tinnitus - nothing more.

Carefully, I oped the window, for fear the smoke might herein flow
In there stepped a pudgy pigeon from the Kraut on the top floor.
Not a "may I' did he utter, nor with greeting did he bother
But with chutzpah like a schnorrer perched above mine kitchen door.
Perched upon a shelf of tchotchky just above mine kitchen door.
Sat and pooped and nothing more.

I hadn't much to say but,"Nu? Vaht is it I can do for you?
Can a pigeon be a chachem vith a mitzvah to implore?
If you're not of some religion, then tell me a little smidgen
Motly looking doity pigeon vanderink from the Kraut's back door.
Tell me vaht your business is and vy you're on mine kitchen door."
Kvoth the pigeon, "Nevermore!"

I wondered if some unclean goddess sent me this oyrech auf Shabbes
Just a nudnik pigeon with fartoosteh to implore.
For we cannot help agreeing that no normal human being
Would want a dirty bird a'shedding 'bove his kitchen door -
Who says a word like "nevermore".

But the pigeon sitting idly on the tchotchky shelf said mildly
That one word as if his birdly brain contained no more.
Then it came to my attention that this was a carrier pigeon
Sent out on some sort of mission by the Kraut on the top floor
With a tiny scrap of paper inscribed thus with nothing more -
Than the German word for "nevermore".

Disgusted with one more reminder of the spell he cast to bind her
One more word to twist the knife that he kept lodged inside my core.
Though I wasn't feeling sober, I thought that this was some nudzh grauber
Sent from that obnoxious neighbor who keeps birds of the top floor -
Singing strains of Nazi anthems wafting down the corridor.
Will he quit, oy, nevermore?

But the pigeon was defiling, in mine house his mess was piling
I commenced to search for broom and dustpan by the closet door.
One more word out of his pecker made me want to go and deck her
And her no goodnik home wrecker who sang songs from foreign shores.
And his dumb, lice ridden bird perched above mine kitchen door.
Cooing naught but "nevermore".

There I stood fartoost and naming with rank syllables exclaming
To the bird whose farstinkener mess lay upon mine kitchen floor.
I began to do some cleaning with the broom and dustpan leaning
Pile of schmutz I was gleaning that the pigeon gloated o'er
With the whiskbroom that was pining on a hook behind the door -
That she ne'er used to sweep the floor.

Then I thought the air grew ranker, befouled by that Nazi stinker
With his heavy footfalls tracking soot upon mine kitchen floor.
"Schmuck!" cried I, "same to your fuehrer. Vith mine blessing you may have her"
"Go on! Go on! You can have her. Fold her up five times and four
Schmuck! Oysvorf! You dirty Nazi and you can put the skank Lenore.
Where the moon shines nevermore!"

"Nachbar!" said he. "Vy do you taunt me. Mein lieber Herr, vy do you haunt me?"
"I ne'er joined za Nazi party nor did I ever go to war."
"I love mine adopted country, within this Aidnen vith mine honey"
"With the lady Liberty and her lamp beside the shore"
"I'm a Yankee doodle dandy with a sweetheart named Lenore!"
"Who is mine forever more."

"Filthy Kraut, you're so disgusting, with expressions I'm distrusting -
Take your boid back to your boidhouse in your loft on the top floor."
"Who d'ya think you are bewitchen', lousy boid vith tail a - twitchin'"
"Get your mess out of my kitchen, kvit the shelf above mine door"
"Get your tail out of mine house, you're making doity on mine floor!"
Kvoth the pigeon, "OK, so she left you for another man. Forget the skank and get on vith your life allrady!"

Dirty pigeon still was sitting, still was $#!!!ing, still was shedding
On the tchotchky shelf just above mine kitchen door.
Paramedics found me fainting, said I was hallucinating
All the while that I was waiting for Yom Kippur to be o'er.
With an IV 'neath my elbow, lying on the kitchen floor.
And no pigeon on the door.