There was a town proud that was built on a slime pit,
And the black creeping muck crept up the brick walls despite it.
Where is the north gate, for I have business yonder,
Sunken and gone, are the rest up, I wonder?
Where is the east gate, for I wish to go riding,
Sinking and tilting, and South Gate is sliding.
Where is the west gate, for we must flee the sinking,
Now it's gone too, so we might well be drinking.
Where is the Main Street, for I have many friends there,
It's a canal now, they have all met their ends there.
Where is the schoolhouse, for the children are missing,
Sunken below, and the bubbles are hissing.
Now we're despairing as we stand on our decks.
Now we are begging as we're up to our necks.
Blub blub blub.
Now where a town was is a garden of fingers,
Now they've stopped wriggling, and nothing yet lingers.
YOU ARE READING
Never told Nursery Rhymes
PoetryAre these the sort of things you like, my dear? the stories and the rhymes that make you shake? are you the sort who seeks darkness and fear? I surely hope you are, for your own sake. In here you'll meet the fear who has a face, in here you'll feel...
