"So it's not just this funk I've been in?"
"No, luv. When the Bloody Awful Poet thinks it lacks a certain… je ne sais quoi, you know it needs a transfusion. Possibly an amputation."
Buffy frowned. "But he's a god with words. He's created—"
"Didn't claim I'd breathe it to 'im. Could snuff me out like that. I'll sing whatever tune he sets. Now you… Show can't go on without—"
"Don't." As if saving the world - a lot - wasn't enough.
..
"Mr. Whedon?"
"Buffy? Come in. What brings you here?"
"It's about your song, Cruising on Autopilot."