Not quite dead, wriggling in a row,
And Fraulein laughed, "Ho, ho! Ho, ho!"
And gave my middle a hard smack,
I wish that I'd hit back.

Then when I cried she laughed again;
On the next page was a dead boy
Murdered by robbers in a lane;
His clothes were red with a big stain
Of blood, he held a broken toy,
The poor, poor little boy!

I had to look: there was a town
Burning where every one got caught,
Then a fish pulled a nigger down
Into the lake and made him drown,
And a man killed his friend; they fought
For money, Fraulein thought.

Old Fraulein laughed, a horrid noise.
"Ho, ho!" Then she explained it all
How robbers kill the little boys
And torture them and break their toys.
Robbers are always big and tall:
I cried: I was so small.

How a man often kills his wife,
How every one dies in the end
By fire, or water or a knife.
If you're not careful in this life,