In dead of night, upon a thread,
With no one there to fend,
A shape comes crawling from the dark,
And whilst you sleep, descend.
On spindly legs and bristled tips,
It lightly takes its place,
Your sleeping mind can feel its weight,
Your pulse begins to race.
Above, it does the dance of dreams,
It shudders and it sighs,
It's almost hidden in the dark,
The night glows from its eyes.
Now restless dreams; you cannot breathe,
In sleep, you beg and plead,
The Nightmare Bug lowers its head,
And slowly starts to feed...