Well. there's a little housenBack there in the woodsnKudzu vines have torn aprtnEverything they couldnnThere's a place beneath the floorboardsnWhere she kept her letters hidnAnd it tells the secret storynBout the awful things she didnnNow the rain and worms havenTurned her words back into the soilnBut the ground is drownednWith blood and oilnnA stranger came to town nSelling magazinesnDoor to door he'd tip his hatnTo every girl he'd seennAnd before too longnHe knocked uponnThe window of her housenIt was then that she begain to wonder nWhat life was aboutnnAnd pretty soon his hat hung on a nail inside her doornAnd her hands were stained nWith blood and oilnnSoon he went awaynAnd she was alonenHer husband wrote from NormandynThat he was coming homennHe had fought the Germans bravelynIn the villges of FrancenThe letter slowly fluttered outnFrom her shaking handsnnAnd she knew she couldn't face himnAnd pretend that she'd been loyalnAnd she cried bitter tearsnOf Blood and OilnnHour after hournShe paced the little roomnShe felt her stomach tightennWith the certainty of doomnnHe would never understand nJust how lonely she'd becomenSo she packed a bag of clothesnAnd a bottle of his rumnnAnd she disappeared into the worldnAs the night uncoilednAnd she left behind a trailnOf blood and oil