My dearest friend of 1999,

I oft' morn you as if you were dead,

For on some day, you'd gone away,

In the direction I pushed and led.

While oft' I'd point t'ward me to blame,

at times oft' I point at you,

It has come clear, while I lie 'wake here,

That this outcome is some sort of muse.

No alarm be raised, no one person gain praise,

For I think it not evil, nor good,

But from up down here, I can see it clear,

I am at rest for where we'd both stood.

An honest worry I have fro' time to time,

And a quick check to see if you cope,

For I know very well, that I am not in hell,

But I worry you've abandoned all hope.

My dearest friend of 1999,

You are but a memory that neither you nor I shall regain,

But my hands, this small space, I yearn to see you face,

I have changed, but have you remained?