Cymbaline
The path you tread is narrow and the drop is shear and very highThe ravens all are watching from a vantage point near byApprehension creeping like a choo-train up your spineWill the tightrope reach the end; will the final cuplet rhymeAnd it's high timeCymbalineIt's high timeCymbalinePlease wake me Butterfly with broken wings is falling by your sideThe ravens all are closing in there's no where you can hideYour manager and agent are both busy on the phoneSelling colored photographs to magazines back homeAnd it's high timeCymbalineIt's high timeCymbalinePlease wake meThe lines converging where you stand they must have moved the picture planeThe leaves are heavy around your feet you hear the thunder of the trainSuddenly it strikes you that they're moving into rangeDoctor Strange is always changing sizeAnd it's high timeCymbalineIt's high timeCymbalinePlease wake me And it's high timeCymbalineIt's high timeCymbalinePlease wake me