1. Dress me in the clothes of people I have been;
2. I wear them ill-suited to the weight of memory.
3. There is respect here for the dead,
4. And none left here for me,
5. Somewhere in the night I slip away to ephemery.

• Hand me the fingers of a body lived without me;

• I look at you, bewildered, for the ways that you might doubt me;

• White keys to my heart, black keys to my soul, the piano never played;

• a melody rings out quietly then fades dismally away.

"I don't know this. You know I...

Have you ever thought about what a useful device for exposition it is to have a character who is utterly autistic about something in the world and likes nothing better than to tell our protagonist about it? Especially if they also don't care about things that would normally be important, socially.