They call me the Lockbed Monster,
With grippy pincers like a lobster.
Stripped of my blankets, I’ll still clamp,
Adhered to bed just like a stamp.
Sun may rise but not my eyelids
As I increase my REM mileage.
Bells and whistles, they won’t do it.
Marching band? I’ll sleep right through it.
A lion roaring in my face?
Twenty elephants in a race?
Through clash and clamor, I won’t surrender,
Locked happily in horizontal splendor.