Do you really have to rip out my liver?
  Do you really have to gorge out and study my entrails?
        Just to get an idea
               of what our future together would be like.
  Do you really have to rely upon such arcane methods,
                                            to reassure yourself of my love?

  What about going with the flow of your feelings?
  What about trusting your heart?
  What about your sense of adventure?
  Don’t you have enough strength left inside of you
                                                                 to sacrifice,
                                                                     to wager upon our ability
                                                                              to make things work?
  Or do you find some sort of sadistic pleasure
                                      in turning love into hate,
                                                    just so you can point a finger at me one day
                                                                                                              and say:

               “There, there, I knew all along you’re going to break.”

March 2, 1997