Cupid is no archer, but a demon with a bow

A child of cruel conception crafted by fires from below

His arrows, barbed and rusted, bring a fever to the soul

Then ill with heated love we are slaves to hearts of coal

But by many lodged then melted heads that coat our blood and bone

We suffer greater still from our heart now turned to stone

And though pity bid us light a fire to those who kneel before us

We can only by contagion from their sparks trade loneliness for lust

By this immoral cycle our lives begin

And till our grave we beg that  Cupid wound and burn our flesh again