Cymbaline

The path you tread is narrow

And the drop is sheer and very high

The ravens all are watching

From a vantage point nearby

Apprehension creeping

Like a tube-train up your spine

Will the tightrope reach the end

Will the final couplet rhyme

And it's high time

Cymbaline

And it's high time

Cymbaline

Please wake me

A butterfly with broken wings

Is falling by your side

The ravens all are closing in

There's nowhere you can hide

Your manager and agent are both busy on the phone

Selling coloured photographs to magazines back home

And it's high time

Cymbaline

And it's high time

Cymbaline

Please wake me

The lines converging where you stand

They must have moved the picture plane

The leaves are heavy round your feet

You hear the thunder of the train

Suddenly it strikes you that they're moving into range

And Dr. Strange is always changing size

And it's high time

Cymbaline

And it's high time

Cymbaline

And it's high time

Cymbaline

And it's high time

Cymbaline