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An expansion of the traditional nursery rhyme--the first 93% of this is mine.

"The House that Jack Built"

These are the children that make no sound as they hark to the troubadour singing his round about red teeth and a bone-white hound that follows the maggots that squirm underground in the filth underneath the burial mound that waits for the banker that works in a bank that jeers at the pauper, filthy and rank, that digs for lime by the river bank that he sells to the hangman, gaunt and lank, that hangs for the judge that takes no bail for the lives of the men in the royal jail that dream of a ship with a golden sail that sails on an ocean of lightning and hail as sharp as the point of an iron nail in the shoe of the horse that will someday be glue named after the Corsican missing a screw that lost at the battle of Waterloo that was won by the soldiers loyal and true that carried the jack colored red, white, and blue that inspires the Englishman sucking his thumb as he sits in the basement all covered with scum that holds the hogshead of low-grade rum that is drunk by the giant, "fee-fi-fo-fum," that steps on the servant, blind, deaf, and dumb that lives on the manor green and immense that is covered with acres of farthings and pence that belong to the landlord collecting his rents that lent out his servant without any sense to stake the stakes in a convent fence to hem in the sisters all trembling and tense that pine for Christ Jesus, who did what he could, but hanged on a cross of rough-hewn wood, that stood under God, so great, so good, that made the sun, so yellow, so gold, that shines on the grasses, so joyous and bold, that grow on the shinbones, so white, so old, that lie the ground, so cold, so cold, that bears up the legs so weary and sore of the children of God that are pious and poor that tread this road of sorrow and gore that leads to the golden farther shore that forgives the body of the fallen whore that bore the sin that Adam bore that will dirty the hands of the innocent wights that hold the tails of the paper kites that dance in the blue celestial heights that bear the night and its holy lights that number the same as the numerous bites that are bit by the creeping crawling mites that live in the wings of the coal-black rook that lives on the trash of the Turkish souk that sold the silk that bound the book that sits in an ant-infested nook beside the roly-poly cook that made the honey sauce on the trout that is served to the bishop with painful gout who ordained the priest without any doubt that keeps the whore with the pretty pout that winks at the mason drinking his stout that built the walls that rumble and creak that hold up the roof with a yellow peak that is made of the tiles that crack and leak and rain on the vicar, mild and meek, that spits at the crow with a yellow beak that walks on the people, dead and gone, that prayed for the blood in the River Don that was shed by the men of the Golden Khan that ordered the Mongol that lived in a yurt to rape the maid in a woolen skirt that received the seed that came in a spurt that grew to a tailor, long dead in the dirt, that made the vestments stinking of mold that frame the smile cunning and cold on the face of the cardinal shameless and bold that carries the relic all yellow and old encased in a ring of solid gold on the thumb of the cardinal saying grace for the luck of his horse in the steeplechase that frightens the servant that keeps his place above the beggar with leg in a brace that curses the cop with the shiny face that kicks the beggar that starving begs to drink the sour sodden dregs that are left by the beer in wooden kegs that are sealed with solid wooden pegs that taunt the beggar with crooked legs that damns the lord of the wayside inn that keeps the beer and watery gin that smooth the stones on the road of sin that funnels the souls to the devil's bin that raises up unholy din to the ears of a driver starving and thin that flicks the whip that cracks a crack on the back of the horse that pulls the hack that carries the judge to breakfast and back where he eats the pancakes stacked in a stack that cause the massive heart attack that kills the judge all dressed in black that hanged the thief with hair of red that stole the brooch of silver and lead that lay on the table beside the bed of the Spanish clown that stands on his head to annoy the baker baking his bread to feed the people, born to die, that pray to the saints in heaven so high that guide the wings of all that fly or float on the breeze so gentle and shy that blows on the clouds that live in the sky that rain on the king with a golden crown and his wife the queen in her silver gown that live in a castle falling down that sits on a hill above the town with walls all painted blue and brown that shelter the farmer sowing his corn that kept the cock that crowed the morn that woke the priest all shaven and shorn that married the man all tattered and torn that kissed the maiden all forlorn that milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.