CYMBALINE
The path you tread is narrow
And the trumpets sheer and very high
The ravens all are watching
From a vantage point near by
Apprehension creeping like a tube
Train up your spine
Will the tight rope reach the end,
Will the final couplet rhyme
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
Please wake me
The lions converging where you stand,
They must have moved the picture plain
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 Doctor Strange is always changing size
And it's high time, Cymbaline
Please wake me
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