This one really needs to be chanted. Think the first three three notes of a minor scale, going up and down.
The mould’s unfolding up the walls,
From down below it creeps and crawls,
It seeps in every plaster crack
In musty, dusty blobs of black.
The walls are conquered, floor to top,
But still that mouldy mould won’t stop,
It seethes across the bedroom ceiling
(Cobweb-strewn and paintwork peeling)
Then it spreads its evil spores
By oozing smoothly under doors.
Its greedy grasp holds fast your clothes,
Your stairs, your chairs, your rugs, your throws,
Until that murderous mouldy mould
Has got the strongest stranglehold
On all your house, on all your stuff,
But for the mould that’s not enough
And so the mould comes marching through,
Until it’s suffocated