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A ragged string of songs self-plagiarized
should give my host his due. The most he asked
of me is that these hundred days be tasked
to Nancy's honor. Had I not realized
his love for her, I might've eulogized
her on my own, might not've come unmasked.
Some questions, sir, are better left unasked.
If I don't answer yours, don't act surprised.
I don't belong here. I ought not've come
so quickly after. Once I'd been released,
I thought things might go back to how they were
when she was here, with us the ones deceased
and hers the pen these words were coming from.
Perhaps if I could make me sound like her . . . .
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pearls 
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