The path you tread is narrow
And the drop is shear 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
And 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
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