Oh, the torment bed in the race,
The grinding screaming of death
And the stroke that hits the vein,
The Hemminge none can stomach, the grief,
The curse no man can bear.
But there is a cure in the house,
Not out side it, no
Not from others but from them
Their bloody strife, we sing to you
Dark gods beneath the ground
Now hear, you blissful powers under ground
Answer the call, send help,
Bless them, give them triumph now.