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 (...) train
Up your spine
Will the tightrope reach the end
Will the final cup be dry
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