Tread softly, my dear,
This land is full of dread,
Do you know not what is in your own head?

Tread hastily, child,
You may not find what you seek
The mind is full of pitfalls and it is sure to be oblique

Tread lightly, little lamb
Each mark in the dirt is visible
And those who find it will be most unforgivable

Have you not heard a single foul yelp?
Any echo of a cry for help?

This is your Bete Noire, cherub
A nightmare built for you
A place you must surely pass through

Constructed by your imagination,
It needs only a single macabre thought in your head
As you lie softly in your bed

Here is your Bete Noire, love
You will surely see it to the end
No matter what it is that you intend