Living souls are scorched by malice.

And hatred creates our bodies,

Love preserves the chosen ones to the grave,

And loyalty is full of expectation.

But also Cupid, the servant of love submissive,

So often made mistakes from that,

That in a moment of sadness or in his hour sorrowful.

He pierced the hearts of people with an arrow for evil

Well, and then regretting hourly,

For the stupidity of those who died and lived.

Because of love, wasted in vain

The touch of he bloody veins,

And who loved and was loved again

Marched with time in the crowd,

Who were thrown or scolded with the word

He never will stand in complete blindness,

Who survived, healing wounds

On the dead body... and the intertwining of hands,

Who were grabbed for the bitten stans

He will never experience the torment....