The little crippled one 

On the floor is dying: 

Move me to the casket 

So that my blood won't 

Bleach the carpet 

 

Tuck me away 

In a boxed metal frame 

Then pack me in a bag 

So that my blood won't 

Bleach the bed 

 

And on the hearse we go

Ridding through the storm 

Then shove me into the oven 

So that my blood won't 

Bleach the coffin

 

And now the little one is dead 

Finally at rest 

All is well in the familly 

As long as blood won't 

Bleach the carpet