What is to be said,
Of the one who haunts me,
It's not a lover,
Who in longing still wants me,
Nor a sister or brother,
Who teases and taunts me,
Neither a parent for whose love I yearn,
Nor a teacher from whom I did learn,
Not even an enemy,
Of a feud without end,
No, the one who haunts me,
I once called dear friend.
