Na ponta da língua

With all the Christmas decorations and clothes of little girls and boys

I'll sleep with the spiders

Snuggle in with the dust, eat up all the mold

Until I gain back your trust

I cannot stand up straight, my back legs will bend.

I'll contort into a memory, a forgotten skeleton

Now I will fall apart, come loose and start to rot

Melt right through my ceiling

And you will scream, because you forgot.