I haven’t the heart to sing nursery rhymes.

To think I once believed them true
that little boy blue could sleep in the hay,
that all the kittens went out to play,
that little miss muffet was not frightened away.

I believed in the world where sunshine and love
shielded us all from the heavens above
and somehow the invention of automobiles
made all our lives more convenient and honorable.

But it isn’t and it doesn’t and it mustn’t,
and we won’t and we shouldn’t and we will not obey
the order of things that sleep in the hay,
now haunted and shoveled and taken away
by the spider, you see, he has spun us his way.