The monster under my bed

In a tiny corner,
of my tiny room,
lies a rather special object,
that with mysteries abounds.

My bed lies in that tiny corner,
looking comfortable and snug,
making you feel as snug as a bug.

But don't let it deceive you,
don't let it trap you,
'cause there's something absurd,
that you'll see too.

As the night creeps in,
dark and eerie,
casting shadows of the nearby tree,
weird things happen,
you see.

Thumps and bumps,
and bumps and thumps,
roars and groans,
and groans and roars,
all echo from the dark abyss,
below my bed.

It's imagination,
I told myself,
on the very first night
I heard it.

But then the voices continued,
that night and every night.

Now I just sit up all night,
listening and listening,
till the sun comes up;
then you see,
it's time to get up.

I know it's weird,
I know it's absurd,
but I fancy
there's a monster,
who lives under my bed.

I told my friend,
one sunny day,
about the monster,
who lives under my bed.

He laughed,
a loud,
hearty laugh,

"So you've got a monster under your bed,
a monster who sleeps by the day?
I'll help you get rid of it,
just get me my chainsaw,
what say?"

So he came with his chainsaw,
and I saw,
how he sawed the legs off my bed,
one by one.

Now the monster's gone,
the monster who sleeps by the day;
but I often do wonder,
where did he run away?