I don't believe everything happens for a reason To us romantics out here, that amounts to high treason I don't go in for your star-crossed lovers In the heart of a skeptic There's a question that still hovers near For it begs the question How did I ever find you Now you got me writing love songs With a common refrain like this one here, baby And all your left handed kisses Were just prelude to another Prelude to your backhanded love song, baby But it begs a question How did I ever find you Drifting gently through the gyre Of the great Sarga**o sea, Atlantic Ocean Got me writing love songs With a common refrain like this one here The point your song here misses Is that if you really loved me You'd risk more than a few 50 cent Words in your backhanded love song For it begs the question How did I ever find you Drifting gently through the gyre Of the great Sarga**o sea, Atlantic Ocean The point your song here misses You got me writing love songs Is that you really love me With a common refrain like this one here, baby Is prelude to another of your backhanded love songs Now it's time for a handsome little bookend Now it's time to tie up all the loose ends Am I still a skeptic or did you make me a believer? If you hesitate, you'll hear the click of the receiver