Little piccaninny, wouldn’t go to bed,
Said he wasn’t sleepy, ran away instead.
So he took his waddy, (stars were shining bright,)
For to catch the bunyip, in the dead of night.
Said “Maybe I’ll catch him by the billabong.”
Though he sat for hours, nothing came along.
Heavy grew his eyelids, drowsy grew his head,
All the night is full of dark, and little creepy things.
The candle gutters in the wind, the curtains leap and strain.
The branches creak and toss and sway,
And softly falls the rain.