71: We don’t remember your life, your name, I no longer mourn you.

Like a surly, vile freeloader / poet, I overhear captions in robot clauses... giving warnings. It’s vile — compounded when I think you read these lines into my thoughts. I’m the hand that writ ...and I negotiate cash for rapprochement after I am gone. Hey, don’t worry, my next line is not incompatible with yours, for I love you so.