The pages were ripped, the pages were spread,
what in the world could have, ferociously, lead
this young man to snapping?
And black as these pages must have been his heart,

and torn like these pages, his love fell apart.
She saw it coming, knowing he'd crack,
stood there, did nothing, or cut him no slack,
closing herself when he opened up, she

was the case and he was the book, and
mad as a crook, he grabbed his last chance,
did not kiss the cook, killed her instead,
for boiling his rage as furiousness rose

he gave it a shot and tried to propose,
love me or die, so I can be free.

To earth she had fallen, no more than a second,
later, he followed, down on one knee, he tried to kneel,
for his love was too strong, it ate him alive,
perfectly prepared, his favourite meal,
scorched ribs, spare'd.

The menu was wrong.