Nate Silver is my shepherd; I shall not count.
He maketh me to lie down until 11 PM;
He leadeth me astride the Sandy waters.
He restoreth my poll;
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for Bayes’ name sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Florida,
I will fear no exits: for thou art with me.
Thy tweets and thy staff of MSNBC, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a graph before me in the presence of nine Romneys.
Thou anointest my head with Xanax as urban voting lines runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy will exceed 270 by midnight without extended recounts through all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the White House forever,
or at least not spend the next six weeks screaming at the television.