There’s something down beneath my bed;
What it is, I’m not quite sure.
But it’s only just arrived there;
I’d have noticed it before.
My mother says it’s nothing,
And my father shakes his head.
I guess they don’t believe in
The thing beneath my bed.
I am sure that it is waiting
Till I turn out the last light,
And settle on my pillows
For a very long, dark night.
And when I’m softly drowsing,
And my mind is fast asleep,
Out from underneath my bed
That something there will creep.
In the morning they’ll be sorry
When they find my bunk empty;
They’ll know they should have listened –
I was speaking truthfully.
And they’ll forever mourn the day
That they simply didn’t care,
And will always look under their bed,
For a something might be there.
~ Barbara Vance