Such horrible things live under the bed
(Keep handy that funeral wreath)
But I am the boy who crawled under his bed
And ate the monster beneath.
The monster beneath, the monster beneath
(For that’s where monsters be)
Monsters are everywhere, underneath everything;
Monsters are made of me.
Such a horrible thing was under my bed!
Fairytales tell lies
They speak of fang and poison and claw
But worst by far are the eyes—
The monster beneath, the monster beneath
(For that’s where monsters be)
Monsters are everywhere, underneath everything;
Hiding monstrously.
When I confronted the Monster Beneath,
He was bigger and stronger and faster
But I had my heart,
(my dark, dark heart)
And that was the creature’s disaster!
The monster beneath, the monster beneath
(For here do monsters be)
Worse than the creatures of myth or tale
Are the monsters who are we.
________
I was really ill when I wrote this.
I suppose it would make a good story, if I wanted to tell it that way. I was at an event run by people who I thought were my friends, and something was off. I couldn’t tell what. I ended up spending pretty much the whole weekend in my room, feeling ill (not with a cold, not with something contagious, but with something that felt like something was just stepping on my chest). And I wrote the beginnings of a song cycle about Dark Lords, being a monster, and Villainy.
There is a surprisingly epic story of deceit, treachery, and ugliness, but it’s a terribly mundane thing, and not really much fun to put into print. What I did get out of it was a number of songs…and the beginnings of what would later become Villainpunk.
Lose fake friends, gain a new genre, and get to become a Villain?
I feel very lucky, to tell you the truth.
For my darkly satirical fantasy novel, “There and NEVER, EVER BACK AGAIN,” click here.
