Her monsters, they come out at night
She tries not to fill her eyes with fright
Tugging under the pillow
Trying not to let the darkness make her feel low ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.