Out in the wood
Where the children play
The children play
The children play
Out in the wood
Where the children play
The cock crows every morning

All of the boys
In their skeleton suits
Had gathered round
A mound of roots
Muddy the cross
As black as their boots
Planted and bloodied and warning

Pale little bonnets
They tried to peek
They tried to peek
They tried to peek
Pale little bonnets
They tried to peek
The cock crows every morning

Tell us, o brothers
What does not sleep
But hides under
The cross's keep?
Small is the grave
And none too deep
Who are we, brothers, here mourning?
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny can't be saved
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny, quiet grave

Each of the boys
Made his hand a spade
His hand a spade
His hand a spade
Each of the boys
Made his hand a spade
The cock crows every morning

They fell in a heap
To claw the mud
That dyed their knees
And sleeves in rud
Shovelled until
The ground bore blood
With all the blowflies swarming

Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny can't be saved
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny, quiet grave
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny can't be saved
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny, quiet grave

Poked at the grave
'Til it bared its bones
It bared it's bones
It bared it's bones
Poked at the grave
'Til it bared its bones
The cock crows every morning

Finches and meadowlark
Fowl and wren
With twisted beaks
And eyes of tin
Feathers as red
As an Indian's skin
Savage and bloodied and warring

Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny can't be saved
Where, o where is quiet Johnny?
Quiet Johnny, quiet grave
Johnny was quiet
And odd and grim
And odd and grim
And odd and grim
None of us do
Ever talk to him
The cock crows every morning