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
It's high time, cymbaline
Please, wake me

A butterfly with broken wings is falling by your side
The ravens all are closing in
And 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
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 around your feet
You hear the thunder of the train
And suddenly it strikes you
That they're moving into range
Doctor Strange is always changing size

And it's high time
Cymbaline
It's high time
Cymbaline
Please wake me

And it's high time
Cymbaline
It's high time
Cymbaline
Please wake me