The Whole—and Nothing But

I can't quite testify in a court of law

That one year my friend lived on nothing but slaw.

I'm unable to swear on my mother's grave

That I remember every last gift that I gave.

I can't place my hand on the Good Book (or even one that's just okay)

While I tell the story of my biggest Bueller day.

I can't take an oath and tell before a judge

That I drove clear 'cross the country pursuing a grudge,

But cross my heart and hope to die,

I'm not the kind to tell a lie;

I'm a bard.