Love's irritation

Oh, the torment bred in race,
the grinding scream of death
and the stroke that hits the vein
the hemorrhage none can staunch, the grief,
the curse no man can bear.

But there is a cure in the house,
and not outside it, no,
not from the others, but for them,
their bloody strife. We sing to you,
dark gods beneath the earths,
that love is irritational, and will
not heal, in you.

Now hear, you blissful powers underground-
answer the call, send help. Bless the hildren, give them triumph now.