Chilling

A girl lies

And counts the sheep,

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord

To take my soul,

To lock it in a rabbit's hole.

She awakes

Late at night,

Her soul is his, she dies of fright.

The girl cries,

Chilling blood,

Falls to the floor, kur-plop, kur-plud.

My blood runs silver

Like the moon

Yes this poem will end soon.

The girl lies

And counts the sheep,

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord

To take my soul,

So the devil cannot eat it whole.